“Are you going upstairs again?”

“No—­oh no!” said Cephyse.  “I have now a horror of this festivity.”

“Everything is paid for, and the waiter will tell them not to expect us back.  They will be much astonished,” continued Jacques, “but it’s all the same now.”

“If you could only go with me to our lodging,” said Cephyse, “this man would perhaps permit it, so as not to enter Sainte-Pelagie in that dress.”

“Oh! he will not forbid you to accompany me; but, as he will be with us in the coach, we shall not be able to talk freely in his presence.  Therefore, let me speak reason to you for the first time in my life.  Remember what I say, my dear Cephyse—­and the counsel will apply to me as well as to yourself,” continued Jacques, in a grave and feeling tone—­“resume from to-day the habit of labor.  It may be painful, unprofitable—­never mind—­do not hesitate, for too soon will the influence of this lesson be forgotten.  By-and-bye it will be too late, and then you will end like so many unfortunate creatures—­”

“I understand,” said Cephyse, blushing; “but I will rather die than lead such a life.”

“And there you will do well—­for in that case,” added Jacques, in a deep and hollow voice, “I will myself show you how to die.”

“I count upon you, Jacques,” answered Cephyse, embracing her lover with excited feeling; then she added, sorrowfully:  “It was a kind of presentiment, when just now I felt so sad, without knowing why, in the midst of all our gayety—­and drank to the Cholera, so that we might die together.”

“Well! perhaps the Cholera will come,” resumed Jacques, with a gloomy air; “that would save us the charcoal, which we may not even be able to buy.”

“I can only tell you one thing, Jacques, that to live and die together, you will always find me ready.”

“Come, dry your eyes,” said he, with profound emotion.  “Do not let us play the children before these men.”

Some minutes after, the coach took the direction to Jacques’s lodging, where he was to change his clothes, before proceeding to the debtors’ prison.

Let us repeat, with regard to the hunchback’s sister—­for there are things which cannot be too often repeated—­that one of the most fatal consequences of the Inorganization of Labor is the Insufficiency of Wages.

The insufficiency of wages forces inevitably the greater number of young girls, thus badly paid, to seek their means of subsistence in connections which deprave them.

Sometimes they receive a small allowance from their lovers, which, joined to the produce of their labor, enables them to live.  Sometimes like the sempstress’s sister, they throw aside their work altogether, and take up their abode with the man of their choice, should he be able to support the expense.  It is during this season of pleasure and idleness that the incurable leprosy of sloth takes lasting possession of these unfortunate creatures.