cs.

"My last," said he. "That gone, I am a beggar. But it won't come to
that, either, thanks to Fraulein Emilie."

"Surely," said I, "you are too reckless of money, too extravagant and
unreflecting. Six months ago, you told me, you had twenty such notes."

"Ay, twenty-two exactly, at the end of January, when I left Amsterdam.
But whither was I bound? To Paris; and who can economize there? I've had
my money's worth, and could have had no more, had I dribbled the dirty
ten thousand florins over three years, instead of three months. I take
great credit for making it last so long. Such suppers, and balls, and
orgies, with the pleasantest fellows and prettiest actresses in Paris.
But the louis-d'or roll rapidly in that sort of society. One must be a
Russian prince, or French _feuilletoniste_, to keep it up. I never
flinched at any thing so long as the money lasted. Then, when I found
myself reduced to the last note, I got into the Frankfort mail, and came
to rusticate at this rural roulette table. My next change will be to
conjugation and Vienna."

"But if you had only a thousand francs on leaving Paris, and have got
them still, how have you lived since?"

"You don't suppose these are the same? There are not many ways of
getting through money here, unless one gambles, which I do not; but coin
has somehow or other a peculiar aptitude to slip through my fingers, and
the thousand francs soon evaporated. Meanwhile, I had written dozens of
letters to my brothers, who seldom answered, and to my father, who never
did. I promised reform and a respectable life, if they would either get
me a snug place with little to do and good pay, or make me a reasonable
yearly allowance, something better than the paltry three thousand
florins they doled out to me when I was in the artillery, and on which,
as I could not live, I was obliged to get in debt. They paid no
attention to my request, reasonable as it was. The best offer they made
me was five francs a-day, paid weekly, to live in a Silesian village.
This was adding insult to injury, and I left off writing to them. A few
days afterwards, taking out my purse to pay for cigars, a dollar dropped
out. It was my last. I paid it away, walked home, lay down upon my bed,
smoked and reflected. My position was gloomy enough, and the more I
looked at it, the blacker it seemed. From my undutiful relatives there
was no hope; the abominable Silesian project was evidently their
ultimatum. I had no f