his brilliant change did
not astonish her as much as you might think. Forty-eight hours
after her removal to her new apartments, she had established order
among the servants; she made them obey a glance or a gesture; and
she made her dress-makers and milliners submit with good grace to
her orders. Jenny soon began to languish, in her fine rooms, for
new excitement; her gorgeous toilets no longer amused her. A woman's
happiness is not complete unless seasoned by the jealousy of rivals.
Jenny's rivals lived in the Faubourg du Temple, near the barrier;
they could not envy her splendor, for they did not know her, and
she was strictly forbidden to associate with and so dazzle them.
As for Tremorel, Jenny submitted to him from necessity. He seemed
to her the most tiresome of men. She thought his friends the
dreariest of beings. Perhaps she perceived beneath their ironically
polite manner, a contempt for her, and understood of how little
consequence she was to these rich people, these high livers,
gamblers, men of the world. Her pleasures comprised an evening with
someone of her own class, card-playing, at which she won, and a
midnight supper. The rest of the time she suffered ennui. She was
wearied to death: A hundred times she was on the point of discarding
Tremorel, abandoning all this luxury, money, servants, and resuming
her old life. Many a time she packed up; her vanity always checked
her at the last moment.

Hector de Tremorel rang at her door at eleven on the morning in
question. She did not expect him so early, and she was evidently
surprised when he told her he had come to breakfast, and asked her
to hasten the cook, as he was in a great hurry.

She had never, she thought, seen him so amiable, so gay. All
through breakfast he sparkled, as he promised himself he would,
with spirit and fun. At last, while they were sipping their coffee,
Hector spoke:

"All this, my dear, is only a preface, intended to prepare you for
a piece of news which will surprise you. I am a ruined man."

She looked at him with amazement, not seeming to comprehend him.

"I said--ruined," said he, laughing bitterly, "as ruined as man
can be."

"Oh, you are making fun of me, joking--"

"I never spoke so seriously in my life. It seems strange to you,
doesn't it? Yet it's sober truth."

Jenny's large eyes continued to interrogate him.

"Why," he continued, with lofty carelessness, "life, you know, is
like a bunch of grapes, which one ei