faces. The brilliant
sunlight made their eyes blink, and the cold sent purple blotches to
their bloated cheeks. As for the young women with yellow hair, they
appeared as they really were--hideous. They entered the only cab that
remained, the most dilapidated one of all, and the driver of which
had no little difficulty in setting his horse in motion; whereupon the
gentlemen went off on foot.

Many persons would have been vexed and even humiliated by the necessity
of appearing at this hour on the boulevard in disorderly attire, which
plainly indicated that they had spent the night in debauchery. But
with the exception of the Viscount de Coralth, who was evidently out of
humor, the party seemed delighted with themselves, as it was easy to
see by the way they met the glances of the passers-by. They considered
themselves first-class form--they were producing an effect--they were
astonishing people. And what more could they desire?

One thing is certain--they were irritating Chupin terribly. He was
following them on the opposite side of the boulevard, at some little
distance in the rear, for he was afraid of being recognized. "The
wretches!" he growled. "One couldn't draw a pint of manly blood from the
veins of all six of them. Ah, if they knew how I hate them!"

But he had not long to nurse his wrath. On reaching the Rue Drouot,
two of the gentlemen left the party, and two more went down the Rue
Lepelletier. M. Wilkie and the viscount were left to walk down the
boulevard alone. They linked their arms and carried on an animated
conversation until they reached the Rue du Helder, where they shook
hands and separated. What had they said at parting? What agreement had
been made between them? Chupin would willingly have given a hundred sous
from his private purse to have known. He would have given as much more
to have been able to double himself, in order to pursue the viscount,
who had started off in the direction of the Madeleine, without having to
give up watching and following his friend. But the days of miracles are
over. So Chupin sighed, and, following Wilkie, he soon saw him enter
No. 48 of the Rue du Helder. The concierge, who was at the door busily
engaged in polishing the bell-handle, bowed respectfully. "So there it
is!" grumbled Chupin. "I knew he lived there--I knew it by the way that
Madame d'Argeles looked at the windows yesterday evening. Poor woman!
Ah! her son's a fine fellow and no mistake!"

His compassion