candour, she would give rein, particularly when
she was drunk, to the most diabolical of fancies.

Duvillard let her drink on, but she guessed his thoughts, like she
guessed those of the others, and simply smiled while concocting
impossible stories and descanting fantastically in the language of the
gutter. And seeing her there in her dazzling gown fit for a queenly
virgin, and hearing her pour forth the vilest words, they thought her
most wonderfully droll. However, when she had drunk as much champagne as
she cared for and was half crazy, a novel idea suddenly occurred to her.

"I say, my children," she exclaimed, "we are surely not going to stop
here. It's so precious slow! You shall take me to the Chamber of
Horrors--eh? just to finish the evening. I want to hear Legras sing 'La
Chemise,' that song which all Paris is running to hear him sing."

But Duvillard indignantly rebelled: "Oh! no," said he; "most certainly
not. It's a vile song and I'll never take you to such an abominable
place."

But she did not appear to hear him. She had already staggered to her feet
and was arranging her hair before a looking-glass. "I used to live at
Montmartre," she said, "and it'll amuse me to go back there. And,
besides, I want to know if this Legras is a Legras that I knew, oh! ever
so long ago! Come, up you get, and let us be off!"

"But, my dear girl," pleaded Duvillard, "we can't take you into that den
dressed as you are! Just fancy your entering that place in a low-necked
gown and covered with diamonds! Why everyone would jeer at us! Come,
Gerard, just tell her to be a little reasonable."

Gerard, equally offended by the idea of such a freak, was quite willing
to intervene. But she closed his mouth with her gloved hand and repeated
with the gay obstinacy of intoxication: "Pooh, it will be all the more
amusing if they do jeer at us! Come, let us be off, let us be off,
quick!"

Thereupon Duthil, who had been listening with a smile and the air of a
man of pleasure whom nothing astonishes or displeases, gallantly took her
part. "But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors,"
said he. "Why, I myself have taken the noblest ladies there, and
precisely to hear that song of Legras, which is no worse than anything
else."

"Ah! you hear what Duthil says!" cried Silviane. "He's a deputy, he is,
and he wouldn't go there if he thought it would compromise his
honorability!"

Then, as Duvillard still struggled on in d