Dard awaited his friends.

They did not come.

The rain did, and poured all the afternoon. Night succeeded, and
solitude. Dard boiled over with bitterness. "They are a lot of pigs
then, all those fellows I have drunk with at Bigot's and Simmet's. Down
with all fair-weather friends."

The next day the sun shone, the air was clear, and the sky blue. "Ah!
let us see now," cried Dard.

Alas! no fellow-drinkers, no fellow-smokers, came to console their hurt
fellow. And Dard, who had boiled with anger yesterday, was now sad and
despondent. "Down with egotists," he groaned.

About three in the afternoon came a tap at the door.

"Ah! at last," cried Dard: "come in!"

The door was slowly opened, and two lovely faces appeared at the
threshold. The demoiselles De Beaurepaire wore a tender look of
interest and pity when they caught sight of Dard, and on the old woman
courtesying to them they courtesied to her and Dard. The next moment
they were close to him, one a little to his right, the other to his
left, and two pair of sapphire eyes with the mild lustre of sympathy
playing down incessantly upon him. How was he? How had he slept? Was he
in pain? Was he in much pain? tell the truth now. Was there anything to
eat or drink he could fancy? Jacintha should make it and bring it, if
it was within their means. A prince could not have had more solicitous