dorn his idol. Then Aquilina's toilette was so comically out of
keeping with her poor abode, that for both their sakes it was clearly
incumbent on him to move. The change swallowed up almost all Castanier's
savings, for he furnished his domestic paradise with all the prodigality
that is lavished on a kept mistress. A pretty woman must have everything
pretty about her; the unity of charm in the woman and her surroundings
singles her out from among her sex. This sentiment of homogeneity
indeed, though it has frequently escaped the attention of observers,
is instinctive in human nature; and the same prompting leads elderly
spinsters to surround themselves with dreary relics of the past. But
the lovely Piedmontese must have the newest and latest fashions, and
all that was daintiest and prettiest in stuffs for hangings, in silks
or jewelry, in fine china and other brittle and fragile wares. She
asked for nothing; but when she was called upon to make a choice, when
Castanier asked her, "Which do you like?" she would answer, "Why, this
is the nicest!" Love never counts the cost, and Castanier therefore
always took the "nicest."

When once the standard had been set up, there was nothing for it but
everything in the household must be in conformity, from the linen,
plate, and crystal through a thousand and one items of expenditure down
to the pots and pans in the kitchen. Castanier had meant to "do things
simply," as the saying goes, but he gradually found himself more and
more in debt. One expense entailed another. The clock called for
candle sconces. Fires must be lighted in the ornamental grates, but the
curtains and hangings were too fresh and delicate to be soiled by smuts,
so they must be replaced by patent and elaborate fireplaces, warranted
to give out no smoke, recent inventions of the people who are so clever
at drawing up a prospectus. Then Aquilina found it so nice to run about
barefooted on the carpet in her room, that Castanier must have soft
carpets laid everywhere for the pleasure of playing with Naqui. A
bathroom, too, was built for her, everything to the end that she might
be more comfortable.

Shopkeepers, workmen, and manufacturers in Paris have a mysterious knack
of enlarging a hole in a man's purse. They cannot give the price of
anything upon inquiry; and as the paroxysm of longing cannot abide
delay, orders are given by the feeble light of an approximate estimate
of cost. The same people never send in the