d upon his mind the refusal to furnish funds for his
theatrical project, and he made no secret of his wrath.

"If you knew," he said to Frantz, "if you knew how money is being
squandered over yonder! It is a great pity. And nothing substantial,
nothing sensible. I who speak to you, asked your brother for a paltry sum
to assure my future and himself a handsome profit. He flatly refused.
Parbleu! Madame requires too much. She rides, goes to the races in her
carriage, and drives her husband at the same rate as her little phaeton
on the quay at Asnieres. Between you and me, I don't think that our good
friend Risler is very happy. That woman makes him believe black is
white."

The ex-actor concluded his harangue with a wink at the comique and the
financier, and for a moment the three exchanged glances, conventional
grimaces, 'ha-has!' and 'hum-hums!' and all the usual pantomime
expressive of thoughts too deep for words.

Frantz was struck dumb. Do what he would, the horrible certainty assailed
him on all sides. Sigismond had spoken in accordance with his nature,
Delobelle with his. The result was the same.

Fortunately the dinner was drawing near its close. The three actors left
the table and betook themselves to the brewery on the Rue Blondel. Frantz
remained with the two women.

As he sat beside her, gentle and affectionate in manner, Desiree was
suddenly conscious of a great outflow of gratitude to Sidonie. She said
to herself that, after all, it was to her generosity that she owed this
semblance of happiness, and that thought gave her courage to defend her
former friend.

"You see, Monsieur Frantz, you mustn't believe all my father told you
about your sister-in-law. Dear papa! he always exaggerates a little. For
my own part, I am very sure that Sidonie is incapable of all the evil she
is accused of. I am sure that her heart has remained the same; and that
she is still fond of her friends, although she does neglect them a
little. Such is life, you know. Friends drift apart without meaning to.
Isn't that true, Monsieur Frantz?"

Oh! how pretty she was in his eyes, while she talked in that strain. He
never had taken so much notice of the refined features, the aristocratic
pallor of her complexion; and when he left her that evening, deeply
touched by the warmth she had displayed in defending Sidonie, by all the
charming feminine excuses she put forward for her friend's silence and
neglect, Frantz Risler reflected, wi