Poor Arnal recently was driven almost insane. He had
a mistress whom he adored. This woman fleeced him.
Having become rich enough she said to him: "Our position
is an immoral one and an end must be put to it. An
honest man has offered me his name and I am going to get
married." Arnal was disconsolate. "I give you the
preference," said the belle, "marry me." Arnal is married.
The woman left him and has become a bourgeoise.
Arnal nearly lost his reason through grief. This does
not prevent him from playing his pasquinades every night
at the Vaudeville. He makes fun of his ugliness, of his
age, of the fact that he is pitted with small-pox--laughs
at all those things that prevented him from pleasing the
woman he loved, and makes the public laugh--and his
heart is broken. Poor red queue! What eternal and
incurable sorrows there be in the gaiety of a buffoon! What
a lugubrious business is that of laughter!






MADEMOISELLE GEORGES.

October, 23, 1867.



Mlle. George came to see me to-day. She was sad, and