“Good heaven!” cried Mother Bunch, turning pale.

“Be satisfied! we have not come to that.  We had still something left, when a kind of agent, who had paid court to me, but who was so ugly that I could not bear him for all his riches, knowing that I was living with Jacques asked me to—­But why should I trouble you with all these details?  In one word, he lent Jacques money, on some sort of a doubtful claim he had, as was thought, to inherit some property.  It is with this money that we are amusing ourselves—­as long as its lasts.”

“But, my dear Cephyse, instead of spending this money so foolishly, why not put it out to interest, and marry Jacques, since you love him?”

“Oh! in the first place,” replied the Bacchanal Queen, laughing, as her gay and thoughtless character resumed its ascendancy, “to put money out to interest gives one no pleasure.  All the amusement one has is to look at a little bit of paper, which one gets in exchange for the nice little pieces of gold, with which one can purchase a thousand pleasures.  As for marrying, I certainly like Jacques better than I ever liked any one; but it seems to me, that, if we were married, all our happiness would end—­for while he is only my lover, he cannot reproach me with what has passed—­but, as my husband, he would be stare to upbraid me, sooner or later, and if my conduct deserves blame, I prefer giving it to myself, because I shall do it more tenderly.”

“Mad girl that you are!  But this money will not last forever.  What is to be done next?”

“Afterwards!—­Oh! that’s all in the moon.  To-morrow seems to me as if it would not come for a hundred years.  If we were always saying:  ’We must die one day or the other’—­would life be worth having?”

The conversation between Cephyse and her sister was here again interrupted by a terrible uproar, above which sounded the sharp, shrill noise of Ninny Moulin’s rattle.  To this tumult succeeded a chorus of barbarous cries, in the midst of which were distinguishable these words, which shook the very windows:  “The Queen! the Bacchanal Queen!”

Mother Bunch started at this sudden noise.

“It is only my court, who are getting impatient,” said Cephyse—­and this time she could laugh.

“Heavens!” cried the sewing-girl, in alarm; “if they were to come here in search of you?”

“No, no—­never fear.”

“But listen! do you not hear those steps? they are coming along the passage—­they are approaching.  Pray, sister, let me go out alone, without being seen by all these people.”

That moment the door was opened, and Cephyse, ran towards it.  She saw in the passage a deputation headed by Ninny Moulin, who was armed with his formidable rattle, and followed by Rose-Pompon and Sleepinbuff.

“The Bacchanal Queen! or I poison myself with a glass of water;” cried Ninny Moulin.

“The Bacchanal Queen! or I publish my banns of marriage with Ninny Moulin!” cried little Rose-Pompon, with a determined air.