o-morrow, undoubtedly."

"And I am to pay fifteen hundred franks for it!"

"Just half its value!" observed M. de Simoncourt, with a shrug of his
shoulders.

Dalrymple smiled, counted the notes, and handed them to his friend.

"Fifteen hundred may be half its cost," said he; "but I doubt if I am
paying much less than its full value. Just see that these are right."

M. de Simoncourt ruffled the papers daintily over, and consigned them to
his pocket-book. As he did so, I could not help observing the whiteness
of his hands and the sparkle of a huge brilliant on his little finger.
He was a pale, slender, olive-hued man, with very dark eyes, and
glittering teeth, and a black moustache inclining superciliously upwards
at each corner; somewhat too _nonchalant_, perhaps, in his manner, and
somewhat too profuse in the article of jewellery; but a very elegant
gentleman, nevertheless.

"_Bon_!" said he. "I am glad you have bought it. I would have taken it
myself, had the thing happened a week or two earlier. Poor Duchesne! To
think that he should have come to this, after all!"

"I am sorry for him," said Dalrymple; "but it is a case of wilful ruin.
He made up his mind to go to the devil, and went accordingly. I am only
surprised that the crash came no sooner."

M. de Simoneourt twitched at the supercilious moustache.

"And you think you would not care to take the black mare with the
Tilbury?" said he, negligently.

"No--I have a capital horse, already."

"Hah I--well--'tis almost a pity. The mare is a dead bargain. Shouldn't
wonder if I buy her, after all."

"And yet you don't want her," said Dalrymple.

"Quite true; but one must have a favorite sin, and horseflesh is mine. I
shall ruin myself by it some day--_mort de ma vie!_ By the way, have you
seen my chestnut in harness? No? Then you will be really pleased. Goes
delightfully with the gray, and manages tandem to perfection. _Parbleu!_
I was forgetting--do we meet to-night?"

"Where?"

"At Chardonnier's."

Dalrymple shook his head, and turned the key in his cash box.

"Not this evening," he replied. I have other engagements."

"Bah! and I promised to go, believing you were sure to be of the party.
St. Pol, I know, will be there, and De Brezy also."

"Chardonnier's parties are charming things in their way," said
Dalrymple, somewhat coldly, "and no man enjoys Burgundy and lansquenet
more heartily than myself; but one might grow to care for nothing else,
and