Chapter VII

DUBOURG CONTINUES TO PLAY THE GREAT MAN.--HIS METHOD OF MANAGING THE TREASURY

Dubourg had never had in his possession so large a sum of money as that which Ménard had intrusted to him. Young men, as a general rule, are not in the habit of hoarding money, and Dubourg, who was devoted to cards and pleasure and good cheer, thinking only of the present, oblivious of the past, and never worrying about the future, had not the faintest idea of economy.

When he was a clerk in a government office, his salary was always so largely hypothecated that he never received more than a third of it, and that third never lasted more than three days, during which period, to be sure, Dubourg lived like the chief of a bureau.

In the banking-house, being compelled to work hard, he took his revenge by ordering dainty breakfasts brought to the office; and his accounts at cafés and restaurants consumed a large part of the amount the cashier paid him at the month's end.

At the notary's, he had contracted, with the other young men in the office, the deplorable habit of playing écarté. It was worse than ever there: the month's pay vanished in one evening, and he was in luck when he did not pledge the next month's as well.

In the employ of the solicitor, being constantly abroad with the lady whom his employer intrusted to him, he lost the habit of working; he passed his time in dissipation, and strove to follow the fashions and rival the young dandies of the capital. During that period, his tailor, his bootmaker, and his stableman had divided his income.

When his kind old aunt sent him money, it was never a large amount. The largest was the five hundred francs which he had extorted by the fable of his marriage and his triplets; we have seen what use he made of that.

Eight thousand francs--for the amount was almost untouched--was, in Dubourg's eyes, a fortune of which he would never see the end. To be sure, it did not belong to him, strictly speaking; but he could direct the spending of it; he could do exactly as he pleased, for he was certain of not being called upon for an accounting. He did not propose to appropriate a single sou, but he did propose to put it to such use as would do honor to him to whom it belonged, and he was not sorry to be able to enjoy it with him.

He ordered a delicious supper, which was served in their apartments, the finest in the house.

When he saw all the dishes with which the table was laden, Frédéric exclaimed:

"Why, are you mad, Dubourg?"--for he continued to call him by that name before Ménard, who had become accustomed to it--"here is supper enough for ten!"

"I have an excellent appetite, my dear Frédéric, and am disposed to do full honor to it; I'll wager that Monsieur Ménard will second me."

"With the very greatest pleasure, monsieur le baron; that affair in the woods made a hole in my stomach."

"But you surely have condemned all the other guests of the house to a bread and water diet."

"Faith! they may eat what they can find; it seems to me natural that we should make up to ourselves for the miserable meal we had last night at that horrible inn."

"I quite agree with monsieur le baron; we are sadly in need of restoring our strength."

"But----"

"What the devil! do you want to travel like wolves? and eat at table d'hôte like paltry pedestrians? A man should support his rank, my friend, and I judge, from the feeling, that my stomach isn't inclined to backslide."

"Monsieur le baron talks very judiciously; you must support your rank," said Ménard, accepting a chicken wing which Dubourg offered him; "that is your father's wish, you know, Monsieur Frédéric."

"Yes, my friend," said Dubourg, filling his glass with the oldest wine that the cellar of the inn contained; "I think you should certainly yield to your father's wish; and, on my word, all things considered, I don't see why I should retain my incognito any longer. We're a long way from Paris. I am done with it; I resume my titles, and I propose to be treated with the honors that are due me."

"Oh! Dubourg, Dubourg! you will get us into some scrape," said Frédéric, in an undertone; but his friend paid no heed; he was excited by the wine, and he had never felt in such high spirits. He drank glass after glass, while Ménard, with a glutton's delight, helped himself to mushroom pie, the odor of which tickled his olfactory nerve.

"What do you think of my plan, Monsieur Ménard?"

"That has always been my wish, as you know, monsieur le baron."

"It is settled; I am baron, palatine, et cetera; and we will make it manifest wherever we go."

"Certainly, monsieur le baron; the nobility of your manners will always cause you to be recognized for what you are."

"Bravo, Monsieur Ménard! spoken like a true boon companion! But as to Frédéric, he is unworthy to sit at our table. A little more of this hare, Monsieur Ménard?"

"With pleasure, monsieur le baron."

"We must be philosophical--when we can't help it; but true philosophy consists in making the most of life, in enjoying one's self whenever the opportunity offers. _Dulce est desipere in loco_, says Horace. Eh, Monsieur Ménard?"

"Yes, monsieur le baron; but Juvenal advises infrequent indulgence in pleasures: _Voluptatis commendat rarior usus_."

"Juvenal probably had a weak stomach."

"That is very possible, monsieur le baron."

"Another glass, Monsieur Ménard; to the memory of Anacreon, Epicurus, Horace, and all good livers!"

"We forget Lucullus, monsieur le baron."

"True; another bumper, to Lucullus!"

By dint of drinking to the memory of the ancients, the two were beginning to lose all memory of the present.

"Faith!" cried Dubourg, rising from the table; "I defy all the palatines of Rava, Cracow, and Krapach to eat a better supper!"

"Take care what you are saying, you infernal babbler!" muttered Frédéric.

"Never you fear," retorted Dubourg, speaking louder than ever; "I'll answer for everything, I tell you; and Papa Ménard is a man whom I esteem and love, and whose eyes I will close with pheasants or truffles."

Luckily, Ménard was in such a condition that he could not distinguish clearly what was being said. Bewildered by the frequent libations in which he had indulged with his noble companion, he left the table to go to his room. He felt his way along the walls till he reached his bed, which he had ordered to be made very low. He retired, well pleased with the feast he had enjoyed and with the baron's manner of doing the honors of the table; he considered that he had done exceedingly well to intrust the financial arrangements to him, for he himself would not have dared to order so delicious a repast; and he foresaw that the baron, who seemed to be both a gourmand and an epicure, would continue to feed them on the fat of the land, as he had abandoned his incognito. In a word, Ménard was delighted with their travelling companion, and he fell asleep musing upon the pleasures and the honor which he should enjoy on that journey.

On the following day, Frédéric attempted to talk prudence to Dubourg, who instantly retorted:

"Do you want to take the funds? Do so, give such orders as you please; it's your right. But, absorbed as you always are in melancholy reflections, you won't feed us decently; and when you are travelling for pleasure, it seems to me that food is a most essential thing to look out for."

"But be reasonable, at least."

"Oh! you are greatly to be pitied, aren't you, for having two men with you to keep you amused--one by his wit, the other by the way he puts himself outside of a partridge."

"But what's the meaning of this idea of playing the great man before everybody?"

"Because we shall have more sport. Besides, you are a count; I must be a baron at least, in order to travel on equal terms with you."

"But the money will go much faster."

"Bah! we shan't see the end of it for a long while yet; and then, you have a father, and I an aunt."

"I advise you to rely on them!"

"At all events, you see that your mentor approves of my method."

"Parbleu! you make him tipsy, and he doesn't know what he's saying."

"Don't worry; I'll answer for everything."

When they resumed their journey, the horses, which belonged to Frédéric, went like the wind. Ménard was slightly dazed by the rapid motion, but he said to himself: "These nobles always travel at full speed;" and clung to the door to keep from falling.

At every inn, they were treated with the greatest respect, as men of high rank. Everywhere they had the best rooms, the daintiest dishes, the oldest wines. And Ménard was delighted, enchanted, because he believed that monsieur le baron had put his fifteen thousand francs with the sum he had handed him, and because he judged him to be too large-hearted and generous to give a thought to the difference between their contributions.

In due time, our travellers reached Lyon, having paused on the way only to admire an occasional view and to give their horses time to breathe. But they proposed to pass several days in that city. Young Montreville was very glad of an opportunity to see it and its suburbs, and, above all, to visit the shores of the Rhône; and his two companions consented, with pleasure, to tarry some time in a city where they could live as well as in Paris.

They alighted at one of the best hotels. The noise made by Dubourg, the distinguished aspect of Frédéric, and the pains that Ménard took to repeat again and again: "You have the honor of entertaining Monsieur le Baron Potoski, Palatine of Rava, and the young Comte de Montreville," attracted universal attention and consideration to the young men, who seemed disposed to spend money freely, which is the best of recommendations at a hotel.

They were quartered in a superb suite on the first floor. Their meals were served in their rooms, and everything had to be of the best. Dubourg was the one who gave all the orders; Frédéric interfered with none of the details, beyond saying to his friend:

"Be careful what you do."

Whereupon Dubourg would reply: "Never fear," with such confidence that the young count finally allowed him to do as he pleased, without remonstrance.

As for Ménard, he was more enthusiastic than ever about the baron, to whom he was indebted for such an agreeable life. Frédéric often went out alone to walk along the bank of the Rhône; fascinated by the beautiful landscape he discovered, he sometimes did not return to the hotel until night or the following day. Dubourg, like those liars who end by believing in their own false-hoods, had so identified himself with the part he was playing, that he would have struck anyone who expressed a doubt as to his rank; he amused himself, during his friend's absences, by displaying his magnificence in the city. Leaning nonchalantly on Ménard's arm, who, with his hat on the back of his head, the better to see and be seen, carried himself very straight, walked with much precision, and strove to assume an air that was both dignified and affable, when he went out with monsieur le baron--Dubourg walked all over the city, with a huge three-cornered hat, adorned with a black plume and a steel buckle, which he wore after the style of one of Molière's marquises. To be sure, the rest of his costume hardly corresponded with his hat; but it was no longer fashionable to wear embroidered coats for walking, and Dubourg had confined himself to having silver tassels attached to his military boots, considering that there was a something Polish about them. He left his coat open, because that gave him a more careless air, and he made frequent use of a huge eyeglass hanging from his neck by a pink ribbon.

His extraordinary garb attracted every eye. Some took him for an Englishman, some for a Russian or a Prussian; but if some curious individual stopped and looked after him with a smile on his face, Dubourg would flash a glance at him that put an end to any inclination to laugh at his expense, and conveyed the impression that the stranger, whoever he might be, was not of a disposition to endure being laughed at.

But it was necessary to be in the neighborhood of our two friends only a very short time to ascertain the identity of the gentleman in the plumed hat, who sauntered along so gracefully with his glass at his eye; for Monsieur Ménard talked very loud, especially when he saw that someone was noticing them, and never failed to emphasize the "Baron Potoski," or "Monsieur le Palatine," when he addressed his companion; sometimes, indeed, he went so far as to call him "Monseigneur de Rava et de Sandomir."

They had been in Lyon a week. Frédéric had not begun to tire of visiting the beautiful suburbs of the city, but Dubourg was beginning to tire of exhibiting himself in the public streets, arm in arm with Ménard. They had been to all the places of resort, all the theatres, and all the cafés; everywhere, Dubourg played the great nobleman, and Ménard unwittingly acted as his accomplice; for the poor fellow was entirely honest, and deemed himself highly honored to promenade with his pupil's noble friend, who was always able to produce an apt quotation and bewildered him by his anecdotes of travel in the four quarters of the globe.

For several days, Dubourg had been urging Frédéric to leave Lyon, and he always postponed their departure to the next day, when one morning Dubourg received a letter which put an end to his desire to go away. This letter was addressed to _Monsieur le Baron Potoski, Seigneur Polonais_. Dubourg read the superscription twice. Who could have written to him, and by that name? He asked the landlady who had brought the letter, and was told that it was a servant in livery, who requested that it be delivered to monsieur le baron in person.

Dubourg hastened to break the seal, and read as follows:

"Monsieur le Baron Potoski is invited to pass this evening with
Madame la Marquise de Versac, who will be delighted to entertain
the noble stranger, at his pleasure, during his stay in Lyon."

The marchioness's address was at the foot of the note, which Dubourg reread several times, and which diffused an odor of musk and amber through his room.

"The devil!" said Dubourg to himself; "an invitation from a marchioness! This is decidedly flattering! But how does she know me? Parbleu! a man very soon becomes known when he lives with a certain amount of style. Besides, people must be beginning to talk about me, after I've paraded the streets for a week with Ménard, like a white bear."

Dubourg summoned the landlady again, and asked her if she knew Madame la Marquise de Versac.

"The Marquise de Versac? I don't know her personally, but I know her very well by name. It's one of the oldest and richest families in the city, and I know madame la marquise has a magnificent country house on the river, four leagues from Lyon."

Dubourg asked no more questions; he was in raptures. He dismissed the landlady, and began to pace the floor, saying to himself:

"I shall certainly accept madame la marquise's invitation; the acquaintance cannot fail to be exceedingly agreeable to me, and, who knows? perhaps I may find there some baroness or viscountess whose head I can turn; who will marry me, and endow me with estates and châteaux! Well, what would there be so surprising in that? I am young, not bad-looking; I have a certain style, which must have attracted Madame la Marquise de Versac. But, deuce take me! what if she herself---- Ah! I forgot to ask about that."

Dubourg rang again, and the landlady reappeared.

"I beg your pardon, my dear hostess," he said; "but I have reasons for wishing to know if Madame la Marquise de Versac is married."

"She is still a widow, I think, monsieur; it's only three years since Monsieur de Versac died, and since then I haven't heard----"

"Very good, very good, madame," said Dubourg, dismissing her again; and he capered about the room, looking at himself in the mirror, and saying:

"She's a widow! there's no doubt about her being a widow still, or the invitation would be in her husband's name. Now, this becomes interesting: a very rich young widow, who has a magnificent country house, and who writes me that she will be charmed to entertain me! for that's what it says. Let's read it again: yes, 'delighted to entertain you.'--It seems to me that that almost amounts to a declaration. You shall entertain me, charming creature! I promise you. By the way, I forgot to ask if she was charming, but it can't be otherwise; at all events, I don't care so much for beauty, now; I am reasonable, I am more attracted by solid advantages. This very evening she shall see the noble stranger. But, damnation! when she finds out that the palatine is only a humble bourgeois! After all, I am an honest Breton, and an honest Breton's as good as any other man; besides, we haven't come to that yet. I must begin by captivating her. When a woman is fascinated, does she recognize ranks and distances? Love equalizes everything: the lord of the thunder loved simple mortals, and the shepherd Paris had it in his power to lie with the loveliest goddesses in Olympus. To lie with Madame de Versac, I'll give her all the apples she wants."

Ménard made his appearance while Dubourg was strutting about his bedroom, trying to assume a courtly air. As soon as he caught sight of the tutor, he thrust the letter into his face, crying:

"_Tolle, lege_, my dear Ménard."

Ménard recoiled, because the odor of musk exhaled by the letter made him ill.

"Doesn't that smell rather like a marchioness, eh?" said Dubourg, inhaling the perfume ecstatically. "Well, Ménard, what do you say to this letter?"

"I see nothing surprising in it, monsieur le baron; you must be accustomed to receive similar ones wherever you go."

"True, you are right, Ménard; I don't mean to imply that I am surprised; I say that the note is well turned, eh?"

"Very well turned, monsieur le baron."

"It was evidently written by a woman who knows her man, wasn't it?"

"Certainly, monsieur le baron, she must know him."

"But I mean that it doesn't resemble such notes as--as little Delphine had the presumption to write me."

"Who was this Delphine, monsieur le baron?"

"Oh! she was a little countess, on Boulevard du Temple, whose receptions used to be attended by a large number of noblemen of my stamp."

"Monsieur le baron will accept Madame la Marquise de Versac's invitation, of course?"

"Accept it? most assuredly. Let us dine at once, Monsieur Ménard, so that I need think of nothing but dressing. Where's Frédéric?"

"Admiring some new view, no doubt; he told me that he should not return till evening; I think he intends to leave Lyon to-morrow."

"To-morrow! Oh! we'll see about that; we have all the time there is, and we're very comfortable here, aren't we, Monsieur Ménard?"

"Very, monsieur le baron; but, you know, we are traveling for----"

"I know that we shouldn't leave a city till we know it thoroughly, and Frédéric can't know this city yet, as he's always in the suburbs. You must persuade him of that, Monsieur Ménard."

"I will do my utmost, monsieur le baron."

Dubourg ate little dinner; he was too much engrossed by thoughts of his evening to have any appetite; a child does not eat, when his father has promised to take him to the play. We are big children; the anticipation of a new pleasure always produces the same effect on us.

Dubourg deliberated concerning his toilet. If he had had time, he would have ordered a dress-coat; but he must needs be content with one of Frédéric's, who was much more slender than he, so that he could never button it. Should he go in top-boots? That would be rather too informal, his hostess being a marchioness. But he had no trousers; Frédéric's were too small for him, and it was not the same with them as with a coat, which one is always at liberty to leave unbuttoned. Ménard would lend him a pair, but they would be too large; so he decided to go in boots; he was a foreigner, a Pole, that fact would be his excuse; moreover, his silver tassels pleased him immensely.

At eight o'clock, Dubourg had been dressed more than an hour, and was pacing the floor of his room, his plumed hat under his arm, practising dignified bows, graceful smiles, and a noble bearing. He had put the whole contents of his treasury in his pocket, and, having no watch, he thought for a moment of taking his steel loop from his hat and placing it in his fob; but it might be recognized as having been on his hat, so he contented himself with a red ribbon, of which he showed only the end. The clock struck nine at last, the hour at which one may decently appear in society; a carriage was waiting; he entered it, and gave the driver the address indicated on the note.

The carriage stopped in a lonely street, before a house of poor appearance. Dubourg alighted. A lackey, there being no concierge, stood at the door of the house, apparently posted there as a sentinel; and he lost no time in ushering Dubourg up a dirty staircase, at the foot of which were two lamps that seemed surprised to be there. But Dubourg was going over in his mind the sentence he had prepared for his salutation to the marchioness, and he did not notice the uncleanness of the house.

The servant opened a door on the first floor and entered an anteroom, wherein the eye sought in vain any article of furniture; although it was dimly lighted, the spots of grease on the walls and the soiled, discolored floor could be plainly seen. But the servant led Dubourg through this room at a rapid pace, and, opening another door into the salon, announced in a loud tone:

"Monsieur le Baron Potoski!"

At that name, there was a great commotion in the salon, and a lady rose and rushed forward to meet Dubourg, expressing in the most cordial terms her pleasure in receiving him as her guest.

Dubourg answered whatever came into his head; he walked into the room, saluting to right and left, and dropped into a chair beside the Marquise de Versac, whom he then took occasion to scrutinize. He saw that he had been wise not to indulge his imagination in advance. The mistress of the house was a woman who seemed to be fully forty-five years of age, despite the care with which she had blackened her eyebrows, reddened her lips, and whitened her complexion. She was fashionably dressed, but her gown, which had a long train, seemed to embarrass her; her head was overladen with flowers and ribbons, and a triple necklace of pearls embellished a long, yellow neck, rising pitifully above a pair of fleshless shoulders, which the marchioness was barbarous enough to expose to all eyes, as if they were pleasing to the sight.

Dubourg did not stop to examine all that; he remembered what his landlady had said to him, and tried to think the marchioness charming. While she addressed him in the most flattering terms, he cast a glance about the salon.

An antiquated chandelier, suspended from the ceiling, lighted the room, which was very large; the hangings must once have been handsome, but were beginning to show too many signs of age. The floor was covered with an immense rug, which was never made for a salon. The covering of the furniture was of two colors: there was a blue ottoman and yellow chairs; and the latter were not alike. In default of a clock, there was an enormous jar of flowers in the centre of the mantel, and a number of candlesticks on either side. Several card-tables of different sizes completed the furnishing of that salon, which seemed to Dubourg to be quite as venerable as Madame de Versac's family.

Having examined the room, Dubourg turned his attention to the company. There were only three ladies besides the marchioness. One, who seemed to be about sixty years old, and who was called the baroness, talked incessantly of her estates, her châteaux, her property, and her servants; she talked so loud that there was not a moment's silence. A young woman, who was rather pretty, but seemed rather awkward, and did not open her mouth except to laugh or to say _yes_ or _no_, was called the Vicomtesse de Fairfignan; while the third, who was apparently about thirty years old, and whom they called Madame de Grandcourt, was half reclining on the ottoman, evidently disposed to flirt; for she cast languorous glances at all the men, and made abundant use of her eyes, which had been handsome, but were so encircled with black that her eyebrows seemed to extend all the way round.

There were seven or eight men in the company; all of them seemed to be counts, or barons, or chevaliers, but not one of them, either in dress or bearing, gave any sign of wealth or rank. Monsieur le chevalier had a frock-coat, the sleeves of which were so short that they were far from reaching his wrists; and when he drew his handkerchief, he took great care to turn his back and conceal it from the company.

The count wore torn lace wristbands, and a ruff stained with liquor and tobacco. He seemed to take great satisfaction in displaying his hands, which were covered with huge rings with red and yellow stones; but the blackness of the hands themselves produced a curious effect beside the wristbands and the jewels.

The baron, who had his hair powdered, and seemed much embarrassed by his queue, which kept getting inside his collar, wore a new black coat and an old pair of nankeen trousers, over which dangled charms in the shape of fruit and shells.

The other men were dressed in the same style.

"Sacrebleu!" thought Dubourg, astounded by the aspect of all those noble personages; "if my landlady hadn't told me what she did about the Marquise de Versac, I should imagine that I was at an old-clothes dealer's, with a parcel of counts from Rue Vide-Gousset."

Meanwhile, the conversation did not flag. Everybody talked and laughed at once. They manifested the greatest consideration for Baron Potoski; the marchioness overwhelmed him with attentions, the old baroness invited him to visit her in the country, the viscountess smiled upon him, and Madame de Grandcourt flashed glances at him the meaning whereof was not at all equivocal, while the men applauded everything he said. Dubourg was flattered by these attentions, for the shrewdest and cleverest men generally allow themselves to be cajoled by anything that flatters their self-esteem.

Punch, liqueurs, and sweetmeats were served, and the whole company pounced upon them. The old baroness drank like a porter, the viscountess stuffed herself with cakes, and the languorous Grandcourt swallowed two glasses of punch in rapid succession, exclaiming that it was not strong enough.

Dubourg imitated his neighbors; he helped himself to punch, and complimented Madame de Versac on the liveliness of her company.

"Oh! we don't stand on ceremony," she replied; "what's the use of tedious formalities between people who are all as good as one another?"

"True, you are right; I like this sort of thing," said Dubourg, beginning already to feel the effects of the punch. "Etiquette is a burden that people of sense should leave at the door."

"Ah! Monsieur de Potoski, you talk like Barême!" said the old baroness, returning to the punch. "You are a palatine of the old stock."

"Not very old, madame."

"But the best, at all events," said Madame de Versac, resting her foot lightly on Dubourg's; whereupon he turned and tried to gaze tenderly at her, at the same time passing his hand behind the marchioness, who allowed him to take liberties without seeming to notice it, which Dubourg considered very patrician behavior.

"For my part, I like to talk nonsense," said the young viscountess, who was beginning to venture upon a sentence or two, now that she had eaten. "It makes me tired when[B] everyone's sober-faced."

[B] "_Ousqu'on_ est serieux," instead of _quand on_, etc.

The viscountess's _ousqu'on_ made Dubourg wince; Madame de Versac noticed it, and made haste to whisper to him:

"She's a German; she speaks with a strong accent."

"But aren't you going to give us something to do this evening, madame la marquise?" said the chevalier, pulling at his sleeves to lengthen them.

"That's so, my love," said the baroness; "why don't we play cards?"

"Ah! yes, let us do something," said Madame de Grandcourt, rolling her eyes seductively; "I must always be doing something."

"Perhaps Monsieur de Potoski does not play?" said the marchioness, turning to Dubourg.

"I beg your pardon, madame; I shall be very glad to play."

"In that case, I will start the tables. You are sure that you care to play, baron?"

"With great pleasure, madame," said Dubourg, overjoyed to have an excuse for removing his hand, which he was tired of holding behind Madame de Versac's back.

Several games of écarté were begun. The chevalier proposed a game of _creps_ for the ladies; whereupon Dubourg said to himself:

"It seems that the ladies of the best society have tastes very different from their sisters of the bourgeoisie; perhaps madame la marquise is fond of _biribi_ too."

Monsieur de Potoski found himself at an écarté table with the count, whose lace cuffs did not prevent his dealing the cards with rare skill. The game soon became animated. A tall, thin gentleman, who stood near Dubourg, bet rolls of twenty-five louis on his game, which he placed on the table without unrolling them, and which passed rapidly into the count's pockets, the tall man, whose threadbare costume might have led one to take him for an unfortunate petitioner for alms, seeming to pay no heed whatever to his loss.

"These men play a very noble game," said Dubourg to himself; and, not choosing to be outdone by the person who was betting on him, he doubled his stakes, and his money passed into the hands with the lace cuffs. But the punch circulated freely; to please Madame de Grandcourt, it had been made much stronger; the company began to get excited and the game became animated.

Madame de Versac seated herself beside Dubourg.

"I mean to bring Monsieur de Potoski good luck," she said, sitting close against him, and showing a row of teeth set like a wild boar's tusks.

"I trust that you will change the luck, madame!" observed Dubourg, who had already lost more than a thousand francs, which he was determined to win back. Madame la marquise made no other reply than to place her foot lovingly on his. With each game that Dubourg lost, she bore down a little heavier, and tried to make him forget his bad luck by saying sweet things to him; but Dubourg did not listen.

"I hope to see you often, Monsieur de Potoski."

"Yes, madame.--Ten louis more, this time."

"I am a bold player," said the count; "I'll take whatever you bet."

"Yes, of course, monsieur le comte will give you your revenge," said the marchioness, "if you lose to-night."

"If I lose!" muttered Dubourg; "I should say so! almost two thousand francs! What a breach in my cash-box!"

"You must come to my country house on the Rhône, my dear Potoski. I insist on your coming."

"Yes, madame la marquise; yes, most certainly.--The king is always in the other hand! it's the most extraordinary thing!"

"We will walk in my park."

"Beaten again!"

"We will enjoy the fresh, cool breezes in the evening."

"It's stifling here!"

"Pray take something."

"I should be glad to take back just what I have lost."

"Do you remain long in Lyon?"

"The devil take me if I know!"

And Dubourg, who had lost three thousand francs, and was tired of feeling madame la marquise's foot on his, rose abruptly and walked about the room.

Madame de Grandcourt was stretched out on a long chair in a corner. A short man with whiskers and moustache sat on a stool almost at her feet; he had passed one arm about his charmer's waist, and the hand of the other was screened from view by the folds of a faded satin gown.

The old baroness and the young viscountess were playing _creps_ with the chevalier. The faces of the ladies were much flushed; the baroness had a glass of punch before her, and was gazing with glassy eyes at the dice, shrieking and disputing over a ten-sou piece which she would not admit that she had lost. The viscountess had recovered the use of her tongue by eating sweetmeats, and she indulged in frequent solecisms which must have opened Dubourg's eyes if he had been himself; but he was not; his losses had disturbed his mental balance, already shaken by the punch and liqueurs. He strode about the salon, looking without seeing, listening without hearing the marchioness's compliments, and passing his hand across his forehead as if to tranquillize his thoughts. He tried to go away, but returned again and again to the card-tables, saying to himself:

"I absolutely must win back my three thousand francs!"

He took a seat at the _creps_ table and called to the count, who was talking in a corner with the man in the threadbare coat who staked rolls of louis which no one saw.

"Monsieur," said Dubourg, raising his voice, "I trust that you will not refuse to give me my revenge at this game, at which I may perhaps have better luck."

"With great pleasure," replied the count with the lace cuffs.

He hastened to the _creps_ table, which the viscountess and baroness instantly quitted; indeed, they soon left the salon, as did Madame de Grandcourt; but Dubourg was too intent upon his game to observe the disappearance of the ladies.

All the men formed a circle about the _creps_ table. Dubourg was allowed to choose whether he would punt or be banker. He chose the latter, and madame la marquise, seated close beside him, took pains always to pick up the dice and the box and hand them to him. Dubourg lost; he no longer knew what he was doing; he threw dice and dice-box on the floor. Someone proposed _trente-et-un_, and he accepted; that finished him; in less than half an hour, the rest of the contents of his cash-box vanished. He felt in all his pockets, in his fob--not a sou! he had lost everything, and the money was not his! He did not speak, but paced the floor for some moments, pale and haggard, biting his lips, clenching his fists, and uttering a fierce oath from time to time. The candles began to go out; the counts and chevaliers whispered together and seemed embarrassed; the marchioness withdrew to a corner of the salon, not deeming the moment favorable for treading on Monsieur de Potoski's foot.

At last, Dubourg, throwing off his depression, seemed to have determined upon his course. He went to get his hat, which he had placed under a chair, and left the room, slamming the door violently behind him; he passed through the anteroom, where four tall fellows, only one of whom was in livery, were busily drinking, opened the door into the hall, and started downstairs. Not until he was halfway down, and attempted to put on his hat, did he discover that he had a wretched tile, without band or lining, which someone had substituted for his fine hat with a plume.

"By heaven, this is too much!" he exclaimed, turning back; "not content with having filched my money, they propose to filch my hat too! Ah! my worthy counts and chevaliers, we'll see about that!"

Dubourg rang the bell violently; no one came. He rang again, and beat the door with his hands and feet, until at last it was opened.

"What do you want?" demanded the servant in livery.

"What do I want? I want my hat, which your chevalier of I-don't-know-what has taken instead of his own miserable tile."

"There's no hat of yours here."

"What's that, you blackguard! you dare to tell me that?"

"Hold your tongue, monsieur! don't make so much noise in the house; madame la marquise don't like it."

"Go to the devil with your madame la marquise, who lets people pinch her wantonly so as to fleece them! I insist on going in; I'll find a way to get back my hat."

"You cannot go in! Help, my friends! Here's a man who means to make trouble!"

The three others ran to his assistance. They seized Dubourg by the shoulders; he struggled and fought to no purpose, being the weaker party. They forced him down the stairs, yelling and calling them curs and thieves, as well as their employers. The four tall rascals made no reply, but pushed him into the street and shut the door in his face.

"Ah! the villains!" he cried, rearranging his clothes, which he had come near losing with all the rest in the struggle he had had. "Ah! the scoundrels! What a fine evening I have had, to be sure! Ouf! I've a good mind to stone the house and break the windows. But, no, I think I'll call--probably the watch will pass before long."

He stood in the street a moment, undecided as to what he should do. But it was very late, the street was deserted, and by remaining there he ran the risk of being arrested himself; he reflected that he was a stranger in the city, and that he had assumed a title which did not belong to him. All these reasons led him to decide to wait until morning before he sought to obtain justice at the hands of madame la marquise. Meanwhile, it behooved him to find the way back to his hotel.

But how could he show his face before Frédéric and Ménard, after losing all the money they had intrusted to him? He had nothing left, and they owed a considerable sum at their hotel.

Dubourg tore his hair and beat his breast as he strode through the streets of Lyon. At last he arrived at the hotel, and addressed himself in the following words:

"Whatever happens, I must end by making the best of it. Even if I should pass the night chastising myself in the street, it wouldn't bring back a sou to my purse. So I may as well go to bed; to-morrow, we'll see about getting out of the scrape."