e was sitting astride a chair in the midst of his
friends and talking; he held a cigar in his hand, and from time to time
took a whiff and blew out a small cloud of smoke.

"We were at dinner when a letter was brought in and my father opened it.
You know my father, who thinks that he is king of France _ad interim_. I
call him Don Quixote, because for twelve years he has been running a
tilt against the windmill of the Republic, without quite knowing whether
it was in the name of the Bourbons or of the Orleans. At present he is
holding the lance in the name of the Orleans alone, because there is
nobody else but them left. In any case, he thinks himself the first
gentleman in France, the best known, the most influential, the head of
the party; and as he is an irremovable senator, he thinks that the
neighboring kings' thrones are very insecure.

"As for my mother, she is my father's soul, she is the soul of the
kingdom and of religion, the right arm of God, and the scourge of
evil-thinkers.

"Well, so a letter was brought in while we were at dinner, and my father
opened and read it, and then he said to my mother: 'Your brother is
dying.' She grew very pale. My uncle was scarcely ever mentioned in the
house, and I did not know him at all; all I knew from public talk was,
that he had led, and was still leading, the life of a buffoon. After
having spent his fortune with an incalculable number of women, he had
only retained two mistresses, with whom he was living in small
apartments in the Rue des Martyrs.

"An ex-peer of France and ex-colonel of cavalry, it was said that he
believed in neither God nor devil. Not believing, therefore, in a future
life he had abused this present life in every way, and he had become the
living wound of my mother's heart.

"'Give me that letter, Paul,' she said, and when she had read it, I
asked for it in my turn. Here it is.

_Monsieur le comte, I thinks I ought to lett you knaw that your
brother-law, count Fumeroll is going to dye. Perhapps you would
make preparations and not forgett that I told you._

_Your servant_,
MELANI.

"'We must think,' papa murmured. 'In my position, I ought to watch over
your brother's last moments.'

"Mamma continued: 'I will send for Abbe Poivron and ask his advice, and
then I will go to my brother's with the abbe and Roger. Stop here Paul,
for you must