hands. Madame Desvarennes's arrival was an element of interest in his
unoccupied life. The dandy guessed at some mysterious business and
thought it possible that he might get to know it. With open ears and
prying eyes, he sought the meaning of the least words.

"If you knew, my dear aunt, how surprised I am to see you here," he
exclaimed in his hypocritical way.

"Not more so than I am to find myself here," said she, with a smile.
"But, bah! I have slipped my traces for a week."

"And what are you going to do here?" continued Savinien.

"What everybody does. By-the-bye, what do they do?" asked Madame
Desvarennes, with vivacity.

"That depends," answered the Prince. "There are two distinct populations
here. On the one hand, those who take care of themselves; on the other,
those who enjoy themselves. For the former there is the constitutional
every morning in the sun, with slow measured steps on the Promenade des
Anglais. For the latter there are excursions, races, regattas. The
first economize their life like misers; the second waste it like
prodigals. Then night comes on, and the air grows cold. Those who take
care of themselves go home, those who amuse themselves go out. The first
put on dressing-gowns; the second put on ball-dresses. Here, the house
is quiet, lit up by a night-light; there, the rooms sparkle with light,
and resound with the noise of music and dancing. Here they cough, there
they laugh. Infusion on the one hand, punch on the other. In fact,
everywhere and always, a contrast. Nice is at once the saddest and the
gayest town. One dies of over-enjoyment, and one amuses one's self at