"I understand you. Here, Nicette, take this purse; you may accept it without a blush, for it is not the price of your dishonor. I am simply doing you a favor, lending you a little money, if you like that better."

"Oh! monsieur, money--from a young man! What will people think of that?"

"You must not say from whom you got it."

"When a girl suddenly has money in her possession, people think, they imagine that----"

"Let the gossips chatter, and force them to hold their tongues by the way you behave."

"My mother----"

"A mother who refuses to support her child has no right to demand an account of her actions."

"But this purse--you are giving me too much, monsieur."

"The purse contains only three hundred francs; I won it two days ago at ecarte. Really, Nicette, if you knew how easily money is lost at cards, you would be less grateful to me for this trifle."

"A trifle! three hundred francs! enough to set me up in business! Why, monsieur, it's a treasure!"

"Yes, to you who know the full value of money, and use it judiciously.

But things are valuable only so long as they are in their proper place."

"All this means, I suppose, that you are very rich?"

"It means that, having been brought up in affluence, accustomed to gratify all my whims, I am not familiar enough with the value of money.

This three hundred francs that I offer you, I should probably lose at cards without a pang; so take the money, Nicette; you can give it back to me, if the day ever comes when I need it."

"Oh, yes! whenever you want it, monsieur; everything I have will always be at your service."

"I don't doubt it, my dear friend; so that business is settled."

"Yes, monsieur; if my mother sends me away, I'll hire a small room, I'll buy flowers; I'll be saving and orderly, and perhaps some day I'll get where I can have a nice little shop of my own."

"Then you will marry according to your taste, and you'll be happy."

"Perhaps so! but let's not talk about that, monsieur."

"Well! time flies; it's nearly eight o'clock, and you must go, Nicette."

"Yes, monsieur, that is true; whenever you say the word. But I--is----"

"What do you want to say?"

"Shan't I see you again?"

"Yes, indeed; I hope to see you often. If you move to another quarter, you must leave your new address with my concierge."

"Very well, monsieur; I won't fail."

The child was in evident distress; she turned her face away to conceal her tears. Could it be that she was sorry to leave me? What nonsense! We had known each other only since the night before! And yet, I too was unhappy at parting from her.

She was certain to meet one or more servants on the stairs; but what was she to do? there was no other way out. She promised to go down very rapidly, and to hurry under the porte cochere.

I kissed her affectionately--too affectionately for a man who had given her three hundred francs; it was too much like taking compensation for the gift.

I opened the door leading to the landing, and stood aside to let Nicette go out first, when a roar of laughter made me look up. That fiendish Raymond's door was open, and he stood inside with a young woman; that young woman was Agathe!

It was a contemptible trick. I recognized Raymond's prying curiosity and Agathe's spirit of mischief. They were on the watch for me, no doubt; possibly they had been on sentry-go since daybreak. But how did it happen that Agathe was there? She had never spoken to Raymond. I swore that he should pay me for his perfidy.

Nicette looked at me, trying to read in my eyes whether she should go forward or back. It was useless to pretend any longer; perhaps, indeed, if there were any further delay, Monsieur Raymond would succeed in collecting a large part of the household on my landing. So I pushed Nicette toward the stairs.

"Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan!" she said sadly.

"Adieu, adieu, my child! I hope that your mother---- I will see--you shall hear--perhaps we may--adieu!"

I had no idea what I was saying; anger and vexation impeded my utterance. But Nicette, who was moved by but one sentiment,--regret at leaving me,--wiped the tears from her eyes with a corner of her ap.r.o.n.

"Ha! ha! this is really sentimental!" laughed Mademoiselle Agathe, as she watched the girl go downstairs; "what! tears and sighs! Ha! ha! it's enough to make one die of laughing! But I should be much obliged to you, monsieur, if you would tell me how it happened that I was at a ball with you last night, and disguised, without knowing anything about it. Well!

why don't you speak? don't you hear me?"

My attention was engrossed by another object. My eyes were fastened on my neighbor, and my steadfast gaze evidently embarra.s.sed him; for, in a moment, I saw that he turned as red as fire; he began to shift about in his confusion, tried to smile, and at last returned to his own room, taking care to lock the door.

"Ah! Monsieur Raymond, I owe you one for this! we shall meet again!" I said, walking toward his door. Then I turned to answer Mademoiselle Agathe, but she had entered my apartment; and as she was perfectly familiar with the locality, I found her in my little study, nonchalantly reclining on the sofa.

"Do tell me, Eugene, what all this means? Mon Dieu! how things are changed about! the couch in the study; the bed partly tumbled; the remains of a breakfast. What happened here last night?"

"Nothing, I a.s.sure you."

"Oh! nothing out of the ordinary course, I understand that. But this couch puzzles me. Tell me about it, Eugene, my little Eugene. Because you are no longer my lover is no reason why we shouldn't be friends."

You are aware, reader, that Mademoiselle Agathe is the milliner with whom I had fallen out because I discovered that she was unfaithful to me. In fact, it was my vexation on her account that had led me to indulge in those melancholy reflections during my stroll along the boulevard on the preceding evening. But since then my susceptible heart had experienced so many new sensations, that the memory of Agathe's treachery had vanished altogether; I had ceased to regret her, consequently I was no longer angry with her. I realized that she was justified in joking me about my serious air, which was not at all consistent with our former liaison, and which might have led one to think that I expected to find a Penelope in a young milliner. So I a.s.sumed a more cheerful demeanor, and questioned her in my turn.

"How did you happen to be there on my landing, talking with Raymond, whom you could never endure?"

"But this couch--this couch here in the study?"

"You shall know all about it, but answer me first."

"Oh! I've no objection; I went into the country yesterday with Gerville--you know, the young government clerk who lives on the floor below."

"Yes, my successor, in fact."

"Your successor, call him so. We returned late; I was very tired, and----"

"You pa.s.sed the night with him; that's a matter of course, and perfectly natural, in my opinion. Well?"

"Why, I had to go away this morning. At half-past six, I crept softly downstairs and was just pa.s.sing through the porte cochere, when I saw Raymond standing guard at the corner. He scrutinized me, and smiled slyly.--'On my word,' he said, 'I didn't believe it was you; you were perfectly disguised; the fishwoman's costume is very becoming to you, and yet it changes you amazingly. I'd have sworn that Monsieur Dorsan was lying to me.'--I listened, without understanding a word; but your name and what he said aroused my curiosity. I suspected some mistake, so I forced Raymond to tell me all he knew; I haven't stopped laughing at it yet. Raymond was delighted when he found out that it wasn't I who was with you. I asked him if he was certain that your new victim was still in the house. He said he was; for he had pa.s.sed most of the night on the landing, and had gone on duty at the porte cochere at daybreak. So I came up with him, to make the tableau more interesting; and we waited at least an hour, until it was your good pleasure to open your door. We would have stayed there till night, I a.s.sure you, rather than not satisfy our mutual curiosity."