that worn appearance noticeable as the special mark of waiters in
night-restaurants, actors, and light women, and produced by conventional
grimacing and the wan reflection of gaslight. He was reputed to be the
paid lover of an exiled and profligate queen. The rumour was whispered
around him, and, in his own world, secured him an envied and despicable
position.

Jansoulet insisted on reading the article, impatient to know what had
been said of him. Unfortunately Jenkins had left his copy at the duke's.

"Let some one go fetch me a _Messenger_ quickly," said the Nabob to the
servant behind him.

Moessard intervened.

"It is needless. I must have the thing on me somewhere."

And with the absence of ceremony of the tavern _habitue_, of the
reporter who scribbles his paragraph with his glass beside him, the
journalist drew out a pocket-book, crammed full of notes, stamped
papers, newspaper cuttings, notes written on glazed paper with crests,
which he proceeded to litter over the table, pushing away his plate in
order to search for the proof of his article.

"There you are." He passed it over to Jansoulet; but Jenkins besought
him:

"No, no; read it aloud."

The company having echoed the request in chorus, Moessard took back his