“That depends,” answered the Prince.  “There are two distinct populations here.  On the one hand, those who take care of themselves; on the other, those who enjoy themselves.  For the former there is the constitutional every morning in the sun, with slow measured steps on the Promenade des Anglais.  For the latter there are excursions, races, regattas.  The first economize their life like misers; the second waste it like prodigals.  Then night comes on, and the air grows cold.  Those who take care of themselves go home, those who amuse themselves go out.  The first put on dressing-gowns; the second put on ball-dresses.  Here, the house is quiet, lit up by a night-light; there, the rooms sparkle with light, and resound with the noise of music and dancing.  Here they cough, there they laugh.  Infusion on the one hand, punch on the other.  In fact, everywhere and always, a contrast.  Nice is at once the saddest and the gayest town.  One dies of over-enjoyment, and one amuses one’s self at the risk of dying.”

“A sojourn here is very dangerous, then?”

“Oh! aunt, not so dangerous, nor, above all, so amusing as the Prince says.  We are a set of jolly fellows, who kill time between the dining-room of the hotel, pigeon-shooting, and the Cercle, which is not so very amusing after all.”

“The dining-room is bearable,” said Marechal, “but pigeon-shooting must in time become—­”

“We put some interest into the game.”

“How so?”

“Oh!  It is very simple:  a gentleman with a gun in his hand stands before the boxes which contain the pigeons.  You say to me:  ’I bet fifty louis that the bird will fall.’  I answer, ‘Done.’  The gentleman calls out, ‘Pull;’ the box opens, the pigeon flies, the shot follows.  The bird falls or does not fall.  I lose or win fifty louis.”

“Most interesting!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Herzog.

“Pshaw!” said Savinien with ironical indifference, “it takes the place of ‘trente et quarante,’ and is better than ‘odd or even’ on the numbers of the cabs which pass.”

“And what do the pigeons say to that?” asked Pierre, seriously.

“They are not consulted,” said Serge, gayly.

“Then there are races and regattas,” continued Savinien.

“In which case you bet on the horses?” interrupted Marechal.

“Or on the boats.”

“In fact, betting is applied to all circumstances of life?”

“Exactly; and to crown all, we have the Cercle, where we go in the evening.  Baccarat triumphs there.  It is not very varied either:  A hundred louis?  Done—­Five.  I draw.  There are some people who draw at five.  Nine, I show up, I win or I lose, and the game continues.”

“And that amid the glare of gas and the smoke of tobacco,” said Marechal, “when the nights are so splendid and the orange-trees smell so sweetly.  What a strange existence!”

“An existence for idiots, Marechal,” sighed Savinien, “that I, a man of business, must submit to, through my aunt’s domineering ways!  You know now how men of pleasure spend their lives, my friend, and you might write a substantial resume entitled, ‘The Fool’s Breviary.’  I am sure it would sell well.”