Well, then, one morning M. Lupot soliloquized—"I have a good fortune, a charming family, and a wife who has never been in a rage; but all this does not lead to a man's being invited, courted, and made much of in the world. Since I have cut the hotpress-wove and red sealing-wax, I have seen nobody but a few friends—retired tradesmen like myself—who drop in to take a hand at vingt-et-un, or loto; but I wish more than that—my daughter must not live in so narrow a circle; my daughter has a decided turn for the arts; I ought to have artists to my house. I will give soirées, tea-parties—yes, with punch at parting, if it be necessary. We shall play bouillote and écarte, for my daughter can't endure loto. Indeed, I wish to set people talking about my re-unions, and to find a husband for Celanire worthy of her." M. Lupot was seated near his wife, who was seated on an elastic sofa, and was caressing a cat on her knee. He said to her—
"My dear Felicité, I intend to give soirées—to receive lots of company. We live in too confined a sphere for our daughter, who was born for the arts—and for Ascanius, who, it strikes me, will make some noise in the world."
Madame Lupot continued to caress the cat, and replied, "Well, what have I to do with that? Do I hinder you from receiving company? If it doesn't cause me any trouble—for I must tell you first of all, you musn't count on me to help you"—
"You will have nothing at all to do, my dear Felicité, but the honours of the house."
"I must be getting up every minute"—
"You do it so gracefully," replied the husband—"I will give all the orders, and Celanire will second me."
Mademoiselle was enchanted with the intention of her sire, and threw her arms round his neck.
"Oh yes! papa," she said, "invite as many as you can, I will learn to play some country-dances that we may have a ball, and finish my head of Belisarius—you must get it framed for the occasion."
And the little Ascanius whooped and hollo'd in the middle of the room. "I shall have tea and punch and cakes. I'll eat every thing!"
After this conversation M. Lupot had set to work. He went to his friends and his friends' friends—to people he hardly knew, and invited them to his party, begging them to bring any body with them they liked. M. Lupot had formerly sold rose-coloured paper to a musician, and drawing pencils to an artist. He went to his ancient customers, and pressed them to come and to bring their professional friends with them. In short, M. Lupot was so prodigiously active that in four days he had run through nearly the whole of Paris, caught an immense cold, and spent seven shillings in cab hire. Giving an entertainment has its woes as well as its pleasures.