lament. He was very unhappy at being misunderstood. His aunt allowed
him three thousand francs a month on condition that he would not make use
of his ten fingers. Was it moral? Then he with such exuberant vigor had
to waste it on pleasure and seeing life to the utmost. He passed his
time in theatres, at clubs, restaurants, in boudoirs. He lost his time,
his money, his hair, his illusions. He bemoaned his lot, but continued,
only to have something to do. With grim sarcasm he called himself the
galley-slave of pleasure. And notwithstanding all these consuming
excesses, he asserted that he could not render his imagination barren.
Amid the greatest follies at suppers, during the clinking of glasses; in
the excitement of the dance-inspirations came to him in flashes, he made
prodigious discoveries.

And as Marechal ventured a timid "Oh!" tinged with incredulity, Savinien
flew into a passion. Yes; he had invented something astonishing; he saw
fortune within reach, and he thought the bargain made with his aunt very
unjust. Therefore he had come to break it, and to regain his liberty.

Marechal looked at the young man while he was explaining with animation
his ambitious projects. He scrutinized that flat forehead within which
the dandy asserted so many good ideas were hidden. He measured that slim
form bent by wild living, and asked himself how that degenerate being
could struggle against the difficulties of business. A smile played on
his lips. He knew Savinien too well not to be aware that he was a prey
to one of those attacks of melancholy which seized on him when his funds
were low.

On these occasions, which occurred frequently, the young man had longings
for business, which Madame Desvarennes stopped by asking: "How much?"
Savinien allowed himself to be with difficulty induced to consent to