“Jamais,” Madden stammered out, stifling a laugh.
“Allons, mon ami,” D’Orsay continued, turning again to his victim, “ce pauvre Madden a bien besoin d’entendre vos Chagrins politiques—il a les siens aussi—il a souffert—lui—il a des sympathies pour les blessés, il faut lui donner ce triste plaisir—n’est ce pas, Madden?”
“Oui,” gurgled Madden.
Then the funereal fun began. Julien planted himself at the upper end of the room, near to a table upon which some wax candles were burning, and drew forth his “Chagrins” from his breast. Lady Blessington seated herself at his left hand, gazing solicitously into his face; at his other hand stood D’Orsay, ever and anon pressing his handkerchief to his eyes, and turning at one of the saddest moments to Madden, and whispering, “Pleurez donc!”
Quin, looking amazingly youthful, made his appearance during a particularly melting “Chagrin,” wherein the author, supposed to be in chase of capricious happiness, exclaimed:—
“Le bonheur! le voilà!
Ici! Ici! La! La!
En haut, en bas! En bas!”
The doctor entered into the spirit of the affair, and whenever D’Orsay acclaimed any passage, would chime in with “Magnifique!” “Superbe!” “Vraiment beau!”
The recital ended as usual in a flood of tears.