rable condition. You see, it's regret that
leads him on and that makes him put a pasteboard face over his own. Yes,
the regret of no longer being what he was and of no longer making any
conquests!"

He was sleeping now and beginning to snore. She looked at him with a
pitying expression and continued: "Oh! how many conquests that man has
made! More than one could believe, monsieur, more than the finest
gentlemen of the world, than all the tenors and all the generals."

"Really? What did he do?"

"Oh! it will surprise you at first, as you did not know him in his palmy
days. When I met him it was also at a ball, for he has always frequented
them. As soon as I saw him I was caught--caught like a fish on a
hook. Ah! how pretty he was, monsieur, with his curly raven locks and
black eyes as large as saucers! Indeed, he was good looking! He took me
away that evening and I never have left him since, never, not even for a
day, no matter what he did to me! Oh! he has often made it hard for me!"

The doctor asked: "Are you married?"

She answered simply: "Yes, monsieur, otherwise he would have dropped me
as he did the others. I have been his wife and his servant, everything,
everything that he wished. How he has made me cry--tears which I did
not show him; for he would tell all his adventures to me--to me,
monsieur--without understanding how it hurt me to listen."

"But what was his business?"

"That's so. I forgot to tell you. He was the foreman at Martel's--a
foreman such as they never had had--an artist who averaged ten
francs an hour."

"Martel?--who is Martel?"

"The hairdresser, monsieur, the great hairdresser of the Opera, who had
all the actresses for customers. Yes, sir, all the smartest actresses had
their hair dressed by Ambrose and they would give him tips that made a
fortune for him. Ah! monsieur, all the women are alike, yes, all of them.
When a man pleases their fancy they offer themselves to him. It is so
easy--and it hurt me so to hear about it. For he would tell me
everything--he simply could not hold his tongue--it was
impossible. Those things please the men so much! They seem to get even
more enjoyment out of telling than doing.

"When I would see him coming in the evening, a little pale, with a
pleased look and a bright eye, would say to myself: 'One more. I am sure
that he has caught one more.' Then I felt a wild desire to question him
and then, again, not to know, to stop his talking if he should