x, a
house in Paris, and is a favorite of the King." She paused, as if to let
this impress itself upon me, and added archly, "Tenez, Monsieur, there is
a daughter--"

She stopped abruptly.

I followed her glance, and my first impression--of claret-color--gave me
a shock. My second confirmed it, for in the semi-darkness beyond the
rays of the candle was a thin, eager face, prematurely lined, with
coal-black, lustrous eyes that spoke eloquently of indulgence. In an
instant I knew it to be that of the young man whom I had seen on the
levee.

"Monsieur Auguste?" stammered Madame.

"Bon soir, Madame," he cried gayly, with a bow; "diable, they are already
at it, I see, and the punch in the bowl. I will win back to-night what I
have lost by a week of accursed luck."

"Monsieur your father has relented, perhaps," said Madame, deferentially.

"Relented!" cried the young man, "not a sou. C'est egal! I have the
means here," and he tapped his pocket, "I have the means here to set me
on my feet again, Madame."

He spoke with a note of triumph, and Madame took a curious step towards
him.

"Qu'est-ce-que c'est, Monsieur Auguste?" she inquired.

He drew something that glittered from his pocket and beckoned to her to
follow him down the room, which she did with alacrity.

"Ha, Adolphe," he cried to the young man of the puffy face, "I will have
my revenge to-night. Voila!!" and he held up the shining thing, "this
goes to the highest bidder, and you will agree that it is worth a pretty
sum."

They rose from their chairs and clustered around him at the table, Madame
in their midst, staring with bent heads at the trinket which he held to
the light. It was Madame's voice I heard first, in a kind of frightened
cry.

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur Auguste, you will not part with that!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?" demanded the young man, indifferently. "It was painted by
Boze, the back is solid gold, and the Jew in the Rue Toulouse will give
me four hundred livres for it to-morrow morning."

There followed immediately such a chorus of questions, exclamations, and
shrill protests from Madame Bouvet, that I (being such a laborious French
scholar) could distinguish but little of what they said. I looked in
wonderment at the gesticulating figures grouped against the light, Madame
imploring, the youthful profile of the newcomer marked with a cynical and
scornful refusal. More than once I was for rising out of my chair to go
over and see for m