ery lace, exhaled an essence of the eighteenth century. All the
libertine graces of his youth reappeared; he seemed to have the wealth
of three hundred thousand francs of debt, while his vis-a-vis waited
before the door. He was grand,--like Berthier on the retreat from
Moscow, issuing orders to an army that existed no longer.

"Monsieur le chevalier," replied Suzanne, drolly, "seems to me I needn't
tell you anything; you've only to look."

And Suzanne presented a side view of herself which gave a sort of
lawyer's comment to her words. The chevalier, who, you must know, was a
sly old bird, lowered his right eye on the grisette, still holding the
razor at his throat, and pretended to understand.

"Well, well, my little duck, we'll talk about that presently. But you
are rather previous, it seems to me."

"Why, Monsieur le chevalier, ought I to wait until my mother beats me
and Madame Lardot turns me off? If I don't get away soon to Paris, I
shall never be able to marry here, where men are so ridiculous."

"It can't be helped, my dear; society is changing; women are just as
much victims to the present state of things as the nobility themselves.
After political overturn comes the overturn of morals. Alas! before long
woman won't exist" (he took out the cotton-wool to arrange his ears):
"she'll lose everything by rushing into sentiment; she'll wring her
nerves; good-bye to all the good little pleasures of our time, desired
without shame, accepted without nonsense." (He polished up the little
negroes' heads.) "Women had hysterics in those days to get their ends,
but now" (he began to laugh) "their vapors end in charcoal. In short,
marriage" (here he picked up his pincers to remove a hair) "will become
a thing intolerable; whereas it used to be so gay in my day! The reigns
of Louis XIV. and Louis XV.--remember this, my child--said farewell to
the finest manners and morals ever known to the world."

"But, Monsieur le chevalier," said the grisette, "the matter now
concerns the morals and honor of your poor little Suzanne, and I hope
you won't abandon her."

"Abandon her!" cried the chevalier, finishing his hair; "I'd sooner
abandon my own name."

"Ah!" exclaimed Suzanne.

"Now, listen to me, you little mischief," said the chevalier, sitting
down on a huge sofa, formerly called a duchesse, which Madame Lardot had
been at some pains to find for him.

He drew the magnificent Suzanne before him, holding her legs between hi