all prudence. Whether they believe their luck inexhaustible, or
fear a sudden turn of fortune, they make haste to enjoy themselves,
and they fill the noted restaurants, the leading cafes, the theatres,
the clubs, the race-courses, with their impudent personality, the
clash of their voice, the extravagance of their mistresses, the
noise of their expenses, and the absurdity of their vanity. And
they go on and on, lavishing other people's money, until the fatal
hour of one of those disastrous liquidations which terrify the
courts and the exchange, and cause pallid faces and a gnashing of
teeth in the "street," until the moment when they have the choice
between a pistol-shot, which they never choose, the criminal court,
which they do their best to avoid, and a trip abroad.

What becomes of them afterwards? To what gutters do they tumble
from fall to fall? Does any one know what becomes of the women who
disappear suddenly after two or three years of follies and of
splendors?

But it happens sometimes, as you step out of a carriage in front of
some theatre, that you wonder where you have already seen the face
of the wretched beggar who opens the door for you, and in a husky
voice claims his two sous. You saw him at the Cafe Riche, during
the six months that he was a big financier.

Some other time you may catch, in the crowd, snatches of a strange
conversation between two crapulous rascals.

"It was at the time," says one, "when I drove that bright chestnut
team that I had bought for twenty thousand francs of the eldest son
of the Duke de Sermeuse."

"I remember," replies the other; "for at that moment I gave six
thousand francs a month to little Cabriole of the Varieties."

And, improbable as this may seem, it is the exact truth; for one
was manager of a manufacturing enterprise that sank ten millions;
and the other was at the head of a financial operation that ruined
five hundred families. They had houses like the one in the Rue du
Cirque, mistresses more expensive than Mme. Zelie Cadelle, and
servants like those who were now talking within a step of Maxence
and Marius de Tregars. The latter had resumed their conversation;
and the oldest one, the coachman with the red nose, was saying to
his younger comrade,

"This Vincent affair must be a lesson to you. If ever you find
yourself again in a house where so much money is spent, remember
that it hasn't cost much trouble to make it, and manage somehow
to get a