ng an opprobrious epithet in her
face, passed on.

Chupin shuddered. "What if that should be her son?" he thought. And
while he pretended to be gazing into a shop window, he stealthily
watched the poor woman. She had paused, and he was so near that he
could almost have touched her. He saw her raise her veil and follow her
insulter with a look which it was impossible to misunderstand. "Oh! oh!
It was her son that called her that----" said Chupin to himself, quite
horrified. And without more ado, he hastened after the young man.

He was between two and four-and-twenty years of age, rather above the
medium height, with very light hair and an extremely pale complexion.
His slight mustache would have been almost imperceptible if it had not
been dyed several shades darker than his hair. He was attired with that
studied carelessness which many consider to be the height of elegance,
but which is just the reverse. And his bearing, his mustache, and
his low hat, tipped rakishly over one ear, gave him an arrogant,
pretentious, rowdyish appearance. "Zounds! that fellow doesn't suit my
fancy," growled Chupin, as he trotted along. For he was almost running
in his efforts to keep pace with Madame d'Argeles's insulter. The
latter's haste was soon explained. He was carrying a letter which he
wished to have delivered, and no doubt he feared he would not be able
to find a commissionaire. Having discovered one at last, he called him,
gave him the missive, and then pursued his way more leisurely.

He had reached the boulevard, when a florid-faced youth, remarkably
short and stout, rushed toward him with both hands amicably extended,
at the same time crying, loud enough to attract the attention of the
passers-by: "Is it possible that this is my dear Wilkie?"

"Yes--alive and in the flesh," replied the young man.

"Well, and what the devil have you been doing with yourself? Last
Sunday, at the races, I looked for you everywhere, and not a vestige
of Wilkie was to be found. However, you were wise not to go. I am three
hundred louis out of pocket. I staked everything on Domingo, the Marquis
de Valorsay's horse. I thought I was sure to win--yes, sure. Well,
Domingo came in third. Can you understand that? If every one didn't know
that Valorsay was a millionaire, it might be supposed there had been
some foul play--yes, upon my word--that he had bet against his own
horse, and forbidden his jockey to win the race." But the speaker did
not reall