of social pride in return for the civilities he received.  At such times Juana once more caught a glimpse of the world of balls, festivities, luxury, and lights; but for her it was a sort of tax imposed upon the comfort of her solitude.  She, the queen of these solemnities, appeared like a being fallen from some other planet.  Her simplicity, which nothing had corrupted, her beautiful virginity of soul, which her peaceful life restored to her, her beauty and her true modesty, won her sincere homage.  But observing how few women ever entered her salons, she came to understand that though her husband was following, without communicating its nature to her, a new line of conduct, he had gained nothing actually in the world’s esteem.

Diard was not always lucky; far from it.  In three years he had dissipated three fourths of his fortune, but his passion for play gave him the energy to continue it.  He was intimate with a number of men, more particularly with the roues of the Bourse, men who, since the revolution, have set up the principle that robbery done on a large scale is only a smirch to the reputation,—­transferring thus to financial matters the loose principles of love in the eighteenth century.  Diard now became a sort of business man, and concerned himself in several of those affairs which are called shady in the slang of the law-courts.  He practised the decent thievery by which so many men, cleverly masked, or hidden in the recesses of the political world, make their fortunes,—­thievery which, if done in the streets by the light of an oil lamp, would see a poor devil to the galleys, but, under gilded ceilings and by the light of candelabra, is sanctioned.  Diard brought up, monopolized, and sold sugars; he sold offices; he had the glory of inventing the “man of straw” for lucrative posts which it was necessary to keep in his own hands for a short time; he bought votes, receiving, on one occasion, so much per cent on the purchase of fifteen parliamentary votes which all passed on one division from the benches of the Left to the benches of the Right.  Such actions are no longer crimes or thefts,—­they are called governing, developing industry, becoming a financial power.  Diard was placed by public opinion on the bench of infamy where many an able man was already seated.  On that bench is the aristocracy of evil.  It is the upper Chamber of scoundrels of high life.  Diard was, therefore, not a mere commonplace gambler who is seen to be a blackguard, and ends by begging.  That style of gambler is no longer seen in society of a certain topographical height.  In these days bold scoundrels die brilliantly in the chariot of vice with the trappings of luxury.  Diard, at least, did not buy his remorse at a low price; he made himself one of these privileged men.  Having studied the machinery of government and learned all the secrets and the passions of the men in power, he was able to maintain himself in the fiery furnace into which he had sprung.