st, nothing
can excuse his lapse at this one time. He should have continued
starving, I suppose, as have so many others, and have either died or
won, as they did, instead of tasting all that is denied, and gaining
much knowledge of the world, of much use in the future, all at the
expense, perhaps, of that purity attaching to certain ignorances, as
much in the man as the woman, since between the sexes all things are
relative.

There were enough odd things in this most odd career. There were
friendships and feuds with those who were of the lower multitude
morally, but who were politicians and had their followings. There were
romances of the order which makes the story of Dumas such a success
upon the stage, and risks and escapes enough to satisfy the hungriest
of romance-readers. It was all grotesque in its grim reality, and the
young man did not know it. He was an unconscious desperado, and the
odd thing about it all was the ease with which he led the double life.

In the morning, clear-headed and competent--for he did not drink at all
of liquors--he appeared and was resolute at his work. He was becoming
more and more considered. That he, somehow, knew the town so well, was
in his favor. More than one case of importance was decided in another
way from which it might have been, because of his knowledge of the
outcasts and their connections, and how they had been used or trifled
with on this occasion or on that one. He was zealous and studied
furiously, and in the mere letter of the law became most confident.
His examination was a trifling thing, and, once admitted to the bar, he
did not remit his efforts. He was valuable to the firm. He was their
watch-dog, and he suggested many things.

One day the senior partner called Harlson in, and a long conference was
held. The younger man was offered a partnership on condition that he
would make a specialty of certain branches of the firm's varied
practice; but the offer had its disadvantages. It was not in the line
political at all, but in one with vexatious business demands and
requisites; yet it was accepted in a moment. And within the next week
all the wicked, nervous night-life was abandoned, all the friendships
formed there put upon probation, all the soiled sentiment made a thing
to be ended surely and forgotten, if possible.

There were some wrenches to it all. Camille learns to love sometimes,
and Oakhurst, the gambler, does not want to part with one wh