nothing, for a rich man,
that I did not like. Nor have I ever asked anything for myself. Jacques
has spent perhaps ten thousand francs the last three or four months, yet
we only occupy two half-furnished rooms, because we always live out of
doors, like the birds: fortunately, when I first loved him, he had
nothing at all, and I had just sold some jewels that had been given me,
for a hundred francs, and put this sum in the lottery. As mad people and
fools are always lucky, I gained a prize of four thousand francs. Jacques
was as gay, and light-headed, and full of fun as myself, so we said: 'We
love each other very much, and, as long as this money lasts, we will keep
up the racket; when we have no more, one of two things will
happen--either we shall be tired of one another, and so part--or else we
shall love each other still, and then, to remain together, we shall try
and get work again; and, if we cannot do so, and yet will not part--a
bushel of charcoal will do our business!'"

"Good heaven!" cried Mother Bunch, turning pale.

"Be satisfied! we have not come to that. We had still something left,
when a kind of agent, who had paid court to me, but who was so ugly that
I could not bear him for all his riches, knowing that I was living with
Jacques asked me to--But why should I trouble you with all these details?
In one word, he lent Jacques money, on some sort of a doubtful claim he
had, as was thought, to inherit some property. It is with this money that
we are amusing ourselves--as long as its lasts."

"But, my dear Cephyse, instead of spending this money so foolishly, why
not put it out to interest, and marry Jacques, since you love him?"

"Oh! in the first place," replied the Bacchanal Queen, laughing, as her
gay and thoughtless character resumed its ascendancy, "to put money out
to interest gives one no pleasure. All the amusement one has is to look
at a little bit of paper, which one gets in exchange for the nice little
pieces of gold, with which one can purchase a thousand pleasures. As for
marrying, I certainly like Jacques better than I ever liked any one; but
it seems to me, that, if we were married, all our happiness would
end--for while he is only my lover, he cannot reproach me with what has
passed--but, as my husband, he would be stare to upbraid me, sooner or
later, and if my conduct deserves blame, I prefer giving it to myself,
because I shall do it more tenderly."

"Mad girl that you are! But this mon