Pont-aux-Choux staking his cloak because he no longer had a denier to stake now cut a brilliant figure; he had repaid the sums that he owed his friends, and it was said that he had squared accounts with the old usurer to whom he had had recourse so often; his dress now was in the extreme of fashion, rich jewels gleamed in his sword hilt and in the clasps of his ribbons; the courtesans to whom he addressed his homage received sumptuous gifts from him and praised his generosity incessantly; lastly, he often gave entertainments to his friends and their mistresses, in his new residence, and at those festivities nothing was lacking: the daintiest dishes, the most exquisite wines, were supplied lavishly, in an apartment where the brilliant glare of chandeliers and candles was reflected on all sides by the lovely Venetian mirrors with which the walls were covered.

It was two o'clock in the morning.

The right wing of the petite maison in Rue de Bretonvilliers was brilliantly illuminated; from the courtyard one could hear the bursts of laughter of the guests who were still in the banquet hall, seated, or rather half reclining, like the Greeks, around a table laden with flowers, decanters full and empty, and the débris of a supper, the remnants of which would have made a royal feast for more than one family.

In an adjoining room, the portières of which were drawn aside, were card tables, surrounded by numerous lovers of games of chance. Some women were among them, and seemed not the least eager in the pursuit of luck and in contending against it.

Lastly, in the less brilliantly lighted rooms of the suite, away from the intrepid gamblers and banqueters, divers couples were seated on sofas, talking, if not of their love affairs, of their amorous adventures. Some fair ones sought, by dint of eloquent glances, to subdue hearts which had thus far resisted their charms, but which would naturally be more submissive after a sumptuous supper, and in an assemblage where pleasure was the only law that anyone chose to recognize.

The Marquis de Sénange, the Sire de Beausseilly, and the Chevalier de Monclair had remained undauntedly at table, talking and drinking, while their friends played cards or made love to the ladies.

"Do you know, messieurs, that this little house is a most delicious spot!" said Sénange, as he glanced about the banquet hall. "Nothing is lacking here; everything is refined, convenient, and decorated with perfect taste!"

"What I admire above all is the way in which the cellar is supplied. Vertudieu! messieurs, judging from our entertainment, there must be a profusion of everything here!"

"Just try, Monclair, not to get into such a state as on that night that we lay on the grass near the Pont-aux-Choux! Do you remember?"

"Yes, indeed—about two months ago.—Give me some of that malaga, Sénange.—Well, messeigneurs, just see what changes may take place in two months! Do you remember poor Léodgard's destitute plight at that time?"

"Pardieu! of course I remember it, as we played for his cloak, which I won from him!—But he has paid me more than its value since!"

"Who would have told us then that a few weeks later this same Léodgard would give us delicious suppers, in a charming house built for a farmer-general; that he would display as much elegance and splendor as his predecessor!"

"Mon Dieu! I see nothing so surprising in that! Fortune is capricious! She treated Léodgard harshly, and now he is her favorite. Instead of losing all the time at cards, he wins—that is the whole story!"

"Not to-night, however, for the charming Herminie has just won a hundred rose crowns from him at lansquenet; she was sitting by me just now, counting them."

"Give me some cyprus, my masters; it is my favorite wine, and this is simply perfect."

"I' faith! if Léodgard is losing, he doesn't show it," said the fair Camilla, a young courtesan with almond-shaped eyes, who had returned to the banqueting room to take some sweetmeats from the table. "He is throwing his gold and silver about to-night with the indifference of a nabob. He is an accomplished cavalier now."

"It must be that his father, the old marquis, has decided to make a sacrifice, to loosen his purse strings; for his winnings at the card table could not have changed Léodgard's position so quickly."

"That is very probable; but when anyone questions him on the subject, that devil of a Léodgard loses his temper; he says that it is nobody's business."

"He is not fond of talking about his affairs; generally speaking, he is not expansive."

"Oh! we must not say that before the fair Camilla! Surely she knows the secrets of her most submissive adorer; a cavalier servant has no secrets from the lady of his thoughts.—Is not that true, adorable Camilla?"

"Mon Dieu! seigneurs, I am less inquisitive than you are! So long as Léodgard gives me everything that I want, what more would you have me ask him for?"

"Well answered!—Ah! my bucks, that will teach you to question a woman!"

"For my own part," said the Sire de Beausseilly, "there is something that surprises me more than the present magnificence of the Comte de Marvejols."

"What is that?" asked Monclair, after tossing off another glass of Cyprus.

"Well, messieurs, it is the strange expression that has characterized our host for some time past; the sad or gloomy look that is always in his eyes, even among us, in the midst of our merrymaking, and when he hears nothing but joyous words and songs all around him!"

"Well, upon my word! that is delicious!—You are mad, Beausseilly!—He would like to make us believe now that Léodgard is sad when he gives us a fête! Why, he sang at the table only a moment ago!"

"He did sing, I admit it; but his expression was no more hilarious, for all that; he tried to appear so—that may be; but there is a long distance between real gayety and bursts of forced laughter!"

"Nonsense, Beausseilly! no more of that; I fancy, my dear fellow, that the fumes of this Spanish wine are beginning to go to your head!"

"No, messieurs, I am quite sober, I am in full possession of my senses. I will not agree to retain them all night, by the way, for there are some lovely eyes here quite capable of depriving me of them!—But to return to Léodgard. Come, I will leave it to his mistress; ask Camilla if she does not think that his manner is less cheerful, less frank, less open, than it used to be.—Answer, O terrestrial divinity!"

The beautiful courtesan took a bunch of flowers from a vase and threw it in Beausseilly's face, saying:

"You do not know what you are talking about; Léodgard is charming; try to be as gallant as he, and all the ladies will adore you.—Do you want to see a serious cavalier, who never laughs, and who does not even look at the ladies?—Well, I will show you one now—there is no need to seek far. See—that man all in black at yonder card table; if you have seen him smile once to-night, I will give you my chin to kiss!"

"She means Jarnonville," said Sénange, laughing.

"Jarnonville, yes, that is what they call him," said Camilla; "but tell me, my noble friends, why that funereal face comes to a joyous party like this?"

"Did you not see him at table? He drank for four!"

"Then he must carry his wine well; for he looks no more cheerful with it all!"

"He's a brave fellow—he fights as well as he drinks!"

"That does not make him any more attractive.—Ah! by the way, Flavia, that madcap Flavia, has bet that she will make a conquest of that dark-browed knight. I am sure that she will have nothing to show for her ogling and her sighs! I must go and watch."

The fascinating Camilla left the banquet hall and returned to the card room.

The playing was very animated; the young nobles, excited by wine, risked large sums on a card or the fall of the