nasty things into his ears; so that he can rub up against all their
dirty skins, with their perfumes and powders and cosmetics. Ah! it's a
fine business! What a life I have had for the last forty years! But we
must first get him to bed, so that he may have no ill effects. Would
you mind helping me? When he is like that I can't do anything with him
alone."

The old man was sitting on his bed, with a tipsy look, his long white
hair falling over his face. His companion looked at him with tender yet
indignant eyes. She continued:

"Just see the fine head he has for his age, and yet he has to go and
disguise himself in order to make people think that he is young. It's a
perfect shame! Really, he has a fine head, monsieur! Wait, I'll show it
to you before putting him to bed."

She went to a table on which stood the washbasin a pitcher of water,
soap and a comb and brush. She took the brush, returned to the bed and
pushed back the drunkard's tangled hair. In a few seconds she made him
look like a model fit for a great painter, with his long white locks
flowing on his neck. Then she stepped back in order to observe him,
saying: "There! Isn't he fine for his age?"

"Very," agreed the doctor, who was beginning to be highly amused.

She added: "And if you had known him when he was twenty-five! But we
must get him to bed, otherwise the drink will make him sick. Do you
mind drawing off that sleeve? Higher-like that-that's right. Now the
trousers. Wait, I will take his shoes off--that's right. Now, hold him
upright while I open the bed. There--let us put him in. If you think
that he is going to disturb himself when it is time for me to get in
you are mistaken. I have to find a little corner any place I can. That
doesn't bother him! Bah! You old pleasure seeker!"

As soon as he felt himself stretched out in his sheets the old man
closed his eyes, opened them closed them again, and over his whole face
appeared an energetic resolve to sleep. The doctor examined him with an
ever-increasing interest and asked: "Does he go to all the fancy balls
and try to be a young man?" "To all of them, monsieur, and he comes back
to me in the morning in a deplorable condition. You see, it's regret
that leads him on and that makes him put a pasteboard face over his own.
Yes, the regret of no longer being what he was and of no longer making
any conquests!"

He was sleeping now and beginning to snore. She looked at him with a
pitying expression an