pes
which they based on the building of a submarine vessel, expected to
bring about the deliverance of the Emperor. Among these former
comrades, Philippe particularly liked an old captain of the dragoons
of the Guard, named Giroudeau, in whose company he had seen his first
service. This friendship with the late dragoon led Philippe into
completing what Rabelais called "the devil's equipage"; and he added
to his drams, and his tobacco, and his play, a "fourth wheel."

One evening at the beginning of February, Giroudeau took Philippe
after dinner to the Gaite, occupying a free box sent to a theatrical
journal belonging to his nephew Finot, in whose office Giroudeau was
cashier and secretary. Both were dressed after the fashion of the
Bonapartist officers who now belonged to the Constitutional
Opposition; they wore ample overcoats with square collars, buttoned to
the chin and coming down to their heels, and decorated with the
rosette of the Legion of honor; and they carried malacca canes with
loaded knobs, which they held by strings of braided leather. The late
troopers had just (to use one of their own expressions) "made a bout
of it," and were mutually unbosoming their hearts as they entered the
box. Through the fumes of a certain number of bottles and various
glasses of various liquors, Giroudeau pointed out to Philippe a plump
and agile little ballet-girl whom he called Florentine, whose good
graces and affection, together with the box, belonged to him as the
representative of an all-powerful journal.

"But," said Philippe, "I should like to know how far her good graces
go for such an iron-gray old trooper as you."

"Thank God," replied Giroudeau, "I've stuck to the traditions of our
glorious uniform. I have never wasted a farthing upon a woman in my
life."

"What's that?" said Philippe, putting a finger on his left eye.

"That is so," answered Giroudeau. "But, between ourselves, the
newspaper counts for a good deal. To-morrow, in a couple of lines, we
shall advise the managers to let Mademoiselle Florentine dance a
particular step, and so forth. Faith, my dear boy, I'm uncommonly
lucky!"

"Well!" thought Philippe; "if this worthy Giroudeau, with a skull as
polished as my knee, forty-eight years, a big stomach, a face like a
ploughman, and a nose like a potato, can get a ballet-girl, I ought to
be the lover of the first actress in Paris. Where does one find such
luck?" he said aloud.

"I'll show you Florentin