“But, M’sieur le Comte,” said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets she had passively received.  “It’s—­it’s good round pieces of silver I need.”

“Francine,” cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, “do you realize that I probably have given you a fortune—­and that I am absolving you of all division of it with me!”

“But, M’sieur—­”

“That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw prizes.”

“Yes, M’sieur le Comte; but—­”

“That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a million—­”

“All the same—­”

“That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize for one round million francs.”

“M’sieur says?” said Francine, whose eyes began to open.

“One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred francs.  You think that isn’t a sacrifice, eh?”

“Well, Monsieur le Comte,” Francine said at last with a sigh, “I’ll take them for twenty francs.  It’s not good round silver, and there’s my little girl—­”

“Enough!” exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture.  “I am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude!  Leave me—­and send hither Andoche.”

He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and repeated with profound dejection; “No gratitude!  There, it’s done:  this time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the lowest!”

Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curacoa that was white and “Triple-Sec.”

“Ah, it’s you, Andoche,” said the Comte, finally, drawn from his abstraction by a succession of rapid bows.  He took two full-hearted sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the Sapeur-Pompier, and added:  “Sit down, my good Andoche.  I have need to be a little gay.  Suppose we talk of Paris.”

It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the carafe and prepare to listen.

II

At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the fortune in trade.  With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle Royale.  Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs in his own.  Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the coulisses of the opera and the regions