A cup of half-cold coffee, and a bottle of rum three parts emptied stood beside him on the floor.

These were the remains of his breakfast; for it was yet early in the morning of the day following my great misadventure at the Opera Comique, and I had sought him out at his lodgings in the Rue Clovis at an hour when the Quartier Latin was for the most part in bed.
"Josephine, at all events, is not of the stuff that _Filles de Marbre_ are made of," I said, smiling.
"Perhaps not--_mais, que voulez-vous ?_ We are what we are.

A grisette makes a bad fine lady.

A fine lady would make a still worse grisette.
The Archbishopric of Paris is a most repectable and desirable preferment; but your humble servant, for instance, would hardly suit the place," "And the moral of this learned and perspicuous discourse ?" "_Tiens_! the moral, is--keep our fair friend in her place.

Remember that a dinner at thirty sous in the Palais Royal, or a fete with fireworks at Mabille, will give her ten times more pleasure than the daintiest repast you could order at the Maison Doree, or the choicest night of the season at either opera house.