Lousteau, in a tone of deep dejection.

The reader will, of course, have guessed that the journalist had
stored these lines in his memory for ten years at least, for he had
written them at the time of the Restoration in disgust at being unable
to get on. Madame de la Baudraye gazed at him with such pity as the
woes of genius inspire; and Monsieur de Clagny, who caught her
expression, turned in hatred against this sham _Jeune Malade_ (the
name of an Elegy written by Millevoye). He sat down to backgammon with
the cure of Sancerre. The Presiding Judge's son was so extremely
obliging as to place a lamp near the two players in such a way as that
the light fell full on Madame de la Baudraye, who took up her work;
she was embroidering in coarse wool a wicker-plait paper-basket. The
three conspirators sat close at hand.

"For whom are you decorating that pretty basket, madame?" said
Lousteau. "For some charity lottery, perhaps?"

"No," she said, "I think there is too much display in charity done to
the sound of a trumpet."

"You are very indiscreet," said Monsieur Gravier.

"Can there be any indiscretion," said Lousteau, "in inquiring who the
happy mortal may be in whose room that basket is to stand?"

"There is no happy mortal in the case," said Dinah; "it is for
Monsieur de la Baudraye."

The Public Prosecutor looked slily at Madame de la Baudraye and her