ime he change--ah, he change much, he
go to a table and pour out a great bowl of wine, and then another, and
he drink them both, and he begin to walk up and down the floor. He sway
now and then, but he keep on for a long time. Once a servant come, but
he wave him away, and he scowl and talk to himself, and shut the doors
and lock them. Then he walk on and on. At last he sit down, and he face
me. In front of him are candles, and he stare between them, and
stare and stare. I sit and watch, and I feel a pity. I hear him say,
'Antoinette! Antoinette! My dear Antoinette! We are lost forever, my
Antoinette!' Then he take the purse from his pocket, and throw it up to
the balcony where I am. 'Pretty sins,' he say, 'follow the sinner!' It
lie there, and it have sprung open, and I can see the jewels shine, but
I not touch it--no. Well, he sit there long--long, and his face get gray
and his cheeks all hollow.

"I hear the clock strike one! two! three! four! Once some one come and
try the door, but go away again, and he never stir; he is like a dead
man. At last I fall asleep. When I wake up, he still sit there, but his
head lie in his arms. I look round. Ah, it is not a fine sight--no. The
candles burn so low, and there is a smell of wick, and the grease runs
here and there down the great candlesticks. Upon the floor, this place
and that, is a card, and pieces of paper, and a scarf, and a broken
glass, and something that shine by a small table. This is a picture in a
little gold frame. On all the tables stand glasses, some full, and some
empty of wine. And just as the dawn come in through the tall windows, a
cat crawl out from somewhere, all ver' thin and shy, and walk across
the floor; it make the room look so much alone. At last it come and move
against m'sieu's legs, and he lift his head and look down at it, and
nod, and say something which I not hear. After that he get up, and pull
himself together with a shake, and walk down the room. Then he see the
little gold picture on the floor which some drunk young officer drop,
and he pick it up and look at it, and walk again. 'Poor fool!' he say,
and look at the picture again. 'Poor fool! Will he curse her some day--a
child with a face like that? Ah!' And he throw the picture down. Then
he walk away to the doors, unlock them, and go out. Soon I steal away
through the panels, and out of the palace ver' quiet, and go home. But I
can see that room in my mind."

Again the jailer hurried