swears that he will never become attached to another sempstress."

"Aha! so she was a sempstress?—And I’ll be bound that you denied her nothing; for you are very open-handed. And then she planted you for some wretched Englishman who promised her a carriage. That is the reward of wasting one’s substance on a woman!"

"On whom would you have us waste it, pray, Robineau? So far as I am concerned, women have often deceived me; but I bear them no ill-will. For, after all, a woman, when she throws us over, leaves us at liberty to take another; whereas we often don’t know how to rid ourselves of one who is faithful."

"That is the reasoning of a jilt!" said Edouard. "Ah! my dear Alfred, you will always be lucky in love, for you will never love!"

"That is so," said Robineau; "he cares nothing for sentiment, he is all for pleasure; and when one is in his position, rich, of noble birth and an only son, with a father who lets him do whatever he pleases, there is no lack of pleasure. For my part, messieurs, I know how to restrict myself; and then, as I told you, I have simple tastes—I care neither for luxury, nor for honors.—What do I need, to be happy?—What I have: a good place—a little fatiguing, to be sure, but I am fond of work—and pending the time when I shall marry, a pretty, emotional, loving mistress, who doesn’t cost me a sou, and on whose fidelity I can rely; for I am horribly jealous."

"And where do you find such a treasure, Robineau?"

"They are easily found; to be sure, I do not apply to grisettes or working-girls.—But I beg pardon, messieurs; while chatting with you, I forget that I am expected to dine at a house to which I was invited a week ago. They will not sit down without me, and I do not wish to keep them waiting too long."

As he spoke, Robineau stepped toward Alfred to shake hands. The latter seized the opportunity to take possession of the portfolio which the clerk held under his arm.

"My portfolio! my portfolio!" cried Robineau; "the devil! no practical jokes!"

"I’ll bet you that it contains nothing but blank paper," said Alfred, still retaining possession of the portfolio. "Come, Robineau; will you bet a dinner at Véry’s?"

"I won’t bet any dinner. I am in a hurry; give it back to me. I don’t want you to look inside; they are secret papers."

But Alfred paid no heed; he untied the strings of the portfolio, and exhibited to Edouard four packages of letter paper, three sticks of sealing wax, a pencil and two papers of pins.

"So this is what you work at all night?" observed Alfred; while Edouard laughed heartily at the expense of the man who had hissed his play.

Robineau feigned surprise, crying:

"Mon Dieu! I must have made a mistake! I took one package for another! I have so many files before me!—This vexes me terribly, I assure you; and if I were not expected at dinner, I would go back to my desk."

"Monseigneur, I restore your secret documents," said Alfred, handing the large portfolio, with an air of profound respect, to Robineau, who replaced it under his arm and was about to take his leave, to escape the witticisms of the two young men. But the taller one detained him.

"You are not angry, I trust, Robineau?"

"I! angry!—Why so, pray? You like to laugh and joke, and so do I, when I have time."

"Yes, I know that you are a good fellow at bottom. Look you—to prove to me that you bear me no grudge because I insisted upon casting a profane eye into the administrative portfolio, you must come to my house this evening; my father gives a large reception—I don’t quite know on what occasion; but this much I do know—that there will be cards and dancing and some very pretty women. Despite your little every-day passion, you are a connoisseur of the sex, and you must come. Edouard will be with us—he has promised me; we will win his money at écarté, and that will help him to forget his last failure. And then, who knows? perhaps he will find among the company a beauty who will wipe from his heart the memory of his faithless fair.—Well! will you come?"

Robineau’s face fairly beamed while Alfred proffered his invitation; he grasped his hand again and shook it hard, as he replied:

"My dear friend—certainly—I am deeply touched. This courteous invitation——"

"Enough fine phrases! Is there any need of ceremony between us? I intended to write to you; but you know how thoughtless I am, and I forgot all about it.—Then you will come?"

"I most certainly shall have that honor, and I am——"

"All right, it’s understood; until this evening, then; and we will try to enjoy ourselves, which is not always easy at grand functions."

With that the young man and his companion, after nodding to the Treasury clerk, walked rapidly away, leaving Robineau in the garden of the Palais-Royal, so engrossed by the invitation he had just received and by the prospect of passing the evening at the Baron de Marcey’s, that, if his feet had not been arrested by the raised rim of the basin, he would have walked straight into the water on the way to his favorite restaurant.

II

THE MILLINER.—ROBINEAU’S TOILET

Robineau arrived at last at his modest restaurant, the public rooms of which were, as usual, full of people; for small purses are more common than large fortunes; which does not mean that only the wealthy frequent the best restaurants. But one thing is certain, namely, that at thirty-two sou places, the patrons eat with heartier appetites than one sometimes has in the gilded salons of the others. As bread is supplied in unlimited quantities, the consumers do not stint themselves with respect to it; and the cry of: "Some bread, waiter!" is heard constantly from every part of the room.

Robineau, who, under ordinary circumstances, was not of the number of small eaters, had less appetite than usual on this day; he swallowed his soup without complaining that it was too clear or too salt, to the waiter’s great surprise; and when the latter inquired what he wished to eat after the soup, Robineau replied:

"Whatever you please, but make haste. I am in a great hurry. I am going to the Baron de Marcey’s this evening, and I must dress with great care."

"In that case, monsieur, a beefsteak and potatoes," said the waiter, who cared very little whether his customer was going to a baron’s that evening, while Robineau looked about with an air of importance to see whether anyone had noticed what he had just said, and whether people were looking at him with more respect. But to no purpose did he cast his eyes over the neighboring tables; the persons who surrounded him were too busily occupied in putting out of sight what was on their plates, to amuse themselves staring at their neighbors; a thirty-two sou restaurant is not the place in which to put on airs.

Robineau, seeing that no one paid any attention to him, although he mentioned the baron’s name once more, hastened to eat the three courses which followed the soup. When the waiter came with the dessert, which consisted of nuts and raisins, Robineau’s customary order, the clerk sprang to his feet, and, placing his portfolio under his arm, left the table, saying to the waiter:

"That’s for you; it’s your pourboire."

Then he walked hurriedly through the dining-room, elbowing such customers as stood in his path, who grumbled at his lack of ceremony; while the waiter looked with a wry face at the nuts and raisins which were bestowed upon him as pourboire.

Robineau hastened to Rue Saint-Honoré, where his lodgings were situated. As he drew near the house, the ground floor of which was occupied by a milliner’s shop, he slackened his pace and his eyes seemed to try to pierce the yellow silk curtains which concealed the shop girls from the eyes of passers-by.

"The devil!" muttered Robineau; "it’s only six o’clock, and Fifine isn’t ready to leave the shop. But I am in extreme