Said I, clapping my hands
together. - And yet you would not permit this, said the old officer,
in England.
- In England, dear Sir, said I, WE SIT ALL AT OUR EASE.
The old French officer would have set me at unity with myself, in
case I had been at variance, - by saying it was a bon mot; - and, as
a bon mot is always worth something at Paris, he offered me a pinch
of snuff.
THE ROSE. PARIS.
It was now my turn to ask the old French officer "What was the
matter?" for a cry of "Haussez les mains, Monsieur l'Abbe!" re-
echoed from a dozen different parts of the parterre, was as
unintelligible to me, as my apostrophe to the monk had been to him.
He told me it was some poor Abbe in one of the upper loges, who, he
supposed, had got planted perdu behind a couple of grisettes in
order to see the opera, and that the parterre espying him, were
insisting upon his holding up both his hands during the
representation. - And can it be supposed, said I, that an
ecclesiastic would pick the grisettes' pockets? The old French
officer smiled, and whispering in my ear, opened a door of
knowledge which I had no idea of.
