Our man about town at once directed his steps to Doucet's magnificent establishment in the Rue de la Paix. When they entered the shop, M. Doucet was in a back room, and the two friends had ample time to examine and admire various marvelous dressing-gowns, cravats, &c., which lay broadcast upon the counters and chairs. Among the articles, was a lot of superlative pocket-handkerchiefs embroidered in the corner with a ducal coronet, and the initials of the owner underneath.
"These are uncommonly pretty," exclaimed our novice to his companion, "I should like wonderfully well to have some for myself embroidered in the same way."
"But, my dear fellow," replied the other, "these belong to some man of rank, and of course you would never think of having a coronet upon your handkerchiefs."
"And why not?" resumed his friend. "I take it, that it is only an ornament, I don't believe it means any thing, and I don't see why I should not make use of the same thing, if I like it."
Just then, to the horror of the man of the world, M. Doucet entered, all smiles and salutations.
"To whom do these pocket-handkerchiefs belong?" inquired our would-be fashionable friend of M. Doucet, who, by-the-bye, understood and spoke English.
"To the Duke d'O——, a Spanish nobleman," answered the shopkeeper.
"Could I not have a half-dozen, the exact counterpart of these, excepting the initials?" asked the customer.
"Undoubtedly, sir," answered Doucet, without the slightest indication of a smile upon his features.
At this point the unfortunate friend and introducer, who had already fidgeted his gloves on and off several times during the progress of the above short dialogue, interposed, and, in the most positive terms, protested against his companion's being guilty of such an absurdity.