And how grateful heirs ought to be!  A cold—­a heat—­a trifle—­and there, in an hour, some old uncle becomes a revered benefactor!”

“And those who are always looking out for other people’s places—­what an ally they must find in the Cholera!”

“And how true it will make many vows of constancy!” said Modeste, sentimentally.  “How many villains have sworn to a poor, weak woman, to love her all their lives, who never meant (the wretches!) to keep their word so well!”

“Gentlemen,” cried Ninny Moulin, “since we are now, perhaps, at the eve of the end of the world, as yonder celebrated painter has expressed it, I propose to play the world topsy-turvy:  I beg these ladies to make advances to us, to tease us, to excite us, to steal kisses from us, to take all sorts of liberties with us, and (we shall not die of it) even to insult us.  Yes, I declare that I will allow myself to be insulted.  So, love, you may offer me the greatest insult that can be offered to a virtuous and modest bachelor,” added the religious writer, leaning over towards his neighbor, who repulsed him with peals of laughter; and the proposal of Ninny Moulin being received with general hilarity, a new impulse was given to the mirth and riot.

In the midst of the uproar, the waiter, who had before entered the room several times, to whisper uneasily to his comrades, whilst he pointed to the ceiling, again appeared with a pale and agitated countenance; approaching the man who performed the office of butler, he said to him, in a low voice, tremulous with emotion:  “They are come!”

“Who?”

“You know—­up there”; and he pointed to the ceiling.

“Oh!” said the butler, becoming thoughtful; “where are they?”

“They have just gone upstairs; they are there now,” answered the waiter, shaking his head with an air of alarm; “yes, they are there!”

“What does master say?”

“He is very vexed, because—­” and the waiter glanced round at the guests.  “He does not know what to do; he has sent me to you.”

“What the devil have I to do with it?” said the other; wiping his forehead.  “It was to be expected, and cannot be helped.”

“I will not remain here till they begin.”

“You may as well go, for your long face already attracts attention.  Tell master we must wait for the upshot.”

The above incident was scarcely perceived in the midst of the growing tumult of the joyous feast.  But, among the guests, one alone laughed not, drank not.  This was Jacques.  With fixed and lurid eye, he gazed upon vacancy.  A stranger to what was passing around him, the unhappy man thought of the Bacchanal Queen, who had been so gay and brilliant in the midst of similar saturnalia.  The remembrance of that one being, whom he still loved with an extravagant love, was the only thought that from time to time roused him from his besotted state.