“When we got here the luck was no better, and the poor young man, whom my father reproached bitterly, would have killed himself if I had not given him the mantle you gave me that he might pawn it and go on his quest.  He got four louis for it, and sent me the ticket with a very tender letter, in which he assured me that he would find some money at Lyons, and that he would then return and take us to Bordeaux, where we are to find treasures.  In the meanwhile we are penniless, and as we have nothing more to sell the landlord threatens to turn us out naked.”

“And what does your father mean to do?”

“I don’t know.  He says Providence will take care of us.”

“What does your mother say?”

“Oh! she was as quiet as usual.”

“How about yourself?”

“Alas!  I have to bear a thousand mortifications every day.  They are continually reproaching me with having fallen in love with this Frenchman, and bringing them to this dreadful pass.”

“Were you really in love with him?”

“Yes, really.”

“Then you must be very unhappy.”

“Yes, very; but not on account of my love, for I shall get over that in time, but because of that which will happen to-morrow.”

“Can’t you make any conquests at the table-d’hote?”

“Some of the men say pretty things to me, but as they all know how poor we are they are afraid to come to our room.”

“And yet in spite of all you keep cheerful; you don’t look sad like most of the unhappy.  I congratulate you on your good spirits.”  Irene’s tale was like the fair Stuard’s story over again, and Marcoline, though she had taken rather too much champagne, was deeply moved at this picture of misery.  She kissed the girl, telling her that I would not forsake her, and that in the meanwhile they would spend a pleasant night.

“Come! let us to bed!” said she; and after taking off her clothes she helped Irene to undress.  I had no wish to fight, against two, and said that I wanted to rest.  The fair Venetian burst out laughing and said,—­

“Go to bed and leave us alone.”

I did so, and amused myself by watching the two Bacchantes; but Irene, who had evidently never engaged in such a combat before, was not nearly so adroit as Marcoline.

Before long Marcoline brought Irene in her arms to my bedside, and told me to kiss her.

“Leave me alone, dearest,” said I, “the punch has got into your head, and you don’t know what you are doing.”

This stung her; and urging Irene to follow her example, she took up a position in my bed by force; and as there was not enough room for three, Marcoline got on top of Irene, calling her her wife.