flowing tones. As he ended, he made a sort of conciliatory half bow
towards Israel.

Charmed with his condescending affability, Israel, without another word,
suffered him to march from the room, bottles and all. Not till the first
impression of the venerable envoy's suavity had left him, did Israel
begin to surmise the mild superiority of successful strategy which
lurked beneath this highly ingratiating air.

"Ah," pondered Israel, sitting gloomily before the rifled mantel, with
the empty tumbler and teaspoon in his hand, "it's sad business to have a
Doctor Franklin lodging in the next room. I wonder if he sees to all the
boarders this way. How the O-t-a-r-d merchants must hate him, and the
pastry-cooks too. I wish I had a good pie to pass the time. I wonder if
they ever make pumpkin pies in Paris? So I've got to stay in this room
all the time. Somehow I'm bound to be a prisoner, one way or another.
Never mind, I'm an ambassador; that's satisfaction. Hark! The Doctor
again.--Come in."

No venerable doctor, but in tripped a young French lass, bloom on her
cheek, pink ribbons in her cap, liveliness in all her air, grace in the
very tips of her elbows. The most bewitching little chambermaid in
Paris. All art, but the picture of artlessness.

"Monsieur! pardon!"

"Oh, I pardon ye freely," said Israel. "Come to call on the
Ambassador?"

"Monsieur, is de--de--" but, breaking down at the very threshold in her