in charcoal. In short, marriage" (here he picked up his pincers to
remove a hair) "will become a thing intolerable; whereas it used to be
so gay in my day! The reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis XV.--remember
this, my child--said farewell to the finest manners and morals ever
known to the world."

"But, Monsieur le chevalier," said the grisette, "the matter now
concerns the morals and honor of your poor little Suzanne, and I hope
you won't abandon her."

"Abandon her!" cried the chevalier, finishing his hair; "I'd sooner
abandon my own name."

"Ah!" exclaimed Suzanne.

"Now, listen to me, you little mischief," said the chevalier, sitting
down on a huge sofa, formerly called a duchesse, which Madame Lardot
had been at some pains to find for him.

He drew the magnificent Suzanne before him, holding her legs between
his knees. She let him do as he liked, although in the street she was
offish enough to other men, refusing their familiarities partly from
decorum and partly for contempt for their commonness. She now stood
audaciously in front of the chevalier, who, having fathomed in his day
many other mysteries in minds that were far more wily, took in the
situation at a single glance. He knew very well that no young girl
would joke about a real dishonor; but he took good care not to knock
over the pretty scaffolding of her lie as he touched it.

"We slander ourselves," he said with inimitable craft; "we are as