vident that each of
these words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. de Coralth.
Accustomed for years to control his features, he remained apparently
unmoved--he even smiled; but a close observer could have detected
anguish in his eyes, and he had become very pale. At last, unable to
endure the scene any longer, he drew a hundred-franc bank-note from
his pocketbook, crumpled it in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying:
"That's a very pretty story you are telling, my boy; but we've had
enough of it. Take your pay and leave us."

Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered a
hoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished an
empty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. de Coralth was about
to have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will,
Chupin conquered this mad fury; and, dropping the bottle, he remarked
to the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet;
don't you see that I was only in fun."

But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even dangerous.
Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evident
intention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them with
a gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "I'm going,
only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me."

"That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for it."

Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. "Now,"
he remarked, "I should like a cigar."

A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of them
and coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth.
Those around watched him with an air of profound astonishment, not
understanding this ironical calmness following so closely upon such a
storm of passion. Then he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, but
one aim in life--to become rich--Victor Chupin, who loved money above
anything else, and had stifled all other passions in his soul--he who
often worked two whole days to earn five francs--he who did not disdain
to claim his five sous when he went to hire a cab for his employer--he,
Chupin, twisted the bank-note in his fingers, lit it at the gas, and
used it to light his cigar.

"Ah! he's crazy!" murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair in
their voices.

But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine form and
no mistake!"

But Chupin did not eve