appoint and humiliate one of his conquerors—"ce coquin russe," as he called him in his heart. But he allowed nothing of this to appear during the day; he was assiduous in performing his duty of cicerone to the party, and anxious that Ivan should miss no sight calculated to give him an exalted idea of the glories and resources of France—least of all the Louvre, then rich with the spoils of a vanquished continent.
He only permitted himself a slight touch of malice when Ivan met one of his friends, and was told by him that they could not see the Czar that day, as he had gone out to Malmaison. The evident disappointment of Clémence piqued him almost as much as it flattered Ivan.
"Never mind, ma cousine," he said. "We will show you the camp of the Cossacks in the Champs-Elysées—that is something really worth seeing. It is true they are perfect savages, ugly, uncouth, and unclean; but they are sufficiently amusing for all that."
Early in the day Ivan had observed the words, "Ici on dine à la Russe," on the window of a fashionable restaurant in the Rue St. Honoré. He took Emile privately into counsel, saying, "I should like to give our friends a genuine Russian dinner;" and the lad, notwithstanding his private feelings, was glad to assist in a plan that promised a little amusement to himself. Accordingly, when the day was nearing its close, and the eyes and limbs of the little party were thoroughly tired, no one was very sorry to hear Emile say to Ivan,—
"This is the place where you wished me to order dinner, Monsieur Posharky. I have carried out all your directions to the best of my ability."
But ere they could enter the glittering doors of the restaurant, their attention was attracted by a little scene which was passing on the crowded footpath of the fashionable street. A gentleman whom Emile would have called old, Ivan middle-aged, and Madame de Talmont in the prime of life, was bend-
