ellows and their dames are students of medicine.
They have one hundred francs a month apiece, and keep house upon it."

"And Suzette," said Ralph Flare, impatiently.

"Oh, she is a _couturiere_, a dressmaker, but just now a clerk at a
glover's. She has dwelt sagely, generally speaking. She breakfasts upon
five sous; a roll, cafe, and a bunch of grapes--her dinner costs eighty
centimes, and she makes a franc and a half a day, leaving enough to pay
her room-rent."

"It is a little sum--seven dollars and a half a month--how is the girl
to dress?"

Terrapin shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.

They played "ramps," an uproarious game; and Suzette was impetuous and
noisy as the rest, with brightened cheeks and eyes and a clear, silvery
voice. The stake was a bottle of Bordeaux. Few women play cards
honestly, and Suzette was the first to go out; but seeing that Ralph
floundered and lost continually, she gave him her attention, looking
over his hand, and talking for him, and counting with so dexterous
deceit that he escaped also, while Terrapin paid for the wine.

It was not the most reputable amusement in the world; but the hours were
winged, and midnight came untimely. Suzette tied on a saucy brown flat
streaming with ribbons, and bade them good-night, ending with Ralph, in
whose palm her little fingers lay pulsing an instant, bringing the blood
to his hand.

How mean the _cremery_ and its patrons seemed now that she was gone! The
great clamp at the portal of his hotel sounded very ghostly as he
knocked; the concierge was a hideous old man in gown and nightcap.

"_Toujours seul, monsieur_," he said, with an ugly grin.

"What does that mean, Terrapin?" said Ralph.

"He says that you always come home alone."

"How else should I come?" said Ralph, dubiously.

"How, indeed?" answered Terrapin.

It was without doubt a dim old pile--the Hotel du Hibou. What murderers,
and thieves, and Jacobins might not have ascended the tiles of the grand
stairway? There was a cumbrous mantel in his chamber, funereal with
griffins, and there were portraits with horribly profound eyes. The sofa
and the chairs were huge; the deep window-hangings were talking together
in a rustling, mocking way; while the bed in its black recess seemed so
very long and broad and high for one person, that Ralph sat down at the
stone table, too lonely or too haunted to sleep.

Would not even this old grave be made merry with sunlight, if little
S