since the world began by the painters of human nature--comedy and tragedy. Every man partakes of one or the other, and rare is the destiny in which both are mingled. For a whole group of persons--of whom Corancez was one--the most romantic affairs end in a vaudeville; while for the other class, to which, alas, Pierre Hautefeuille belonged, the simplest adventures result in tragedy. If the first love sincerely, never does the loved woman do them wrong. A smile is always ready to mingle with their tears. The others are given to poignant emotions, to cruel complications; all their idyls are tragic idyls. And truly, to see these two young men side by side, as Corancez laid his hand on Hautefeuille's shoulder, to arouse him from his reverie, these two eternal types--the hero of comedy and the hero of tragedy--appeared in all their contrast--the one robust and laughing, with bright eyes and sensual lips, sure of himself, and throwing around him, as it were, an atmosphere of good humor; the other frail and delicate, his eyes heavy with thought, ready to suffer at the least contact with life, scarcely able to conceal a quiver of irritation at the sudden interrupting of his dreams. His irritation quickly vanished; when he had risen and Corancez had taken him familiarly by the arm, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he might hear from his old friend some news of the Baroness Ely de Carlsberg, whom in fact he had been vainly seeking at Monte Carlo. And the cunning Southerner began:-- "How sly of you to come here without letting me know. And how foolish. You might have dined comfortably with me. I had this evening the prettiest table in Monte Carlo: Madame de Carlsberg, Madame de Chésy, Miss Marsh, Madame Bonnacorsi. You know all four of them, I believe. You would not have been bored." "I didn't know until five o'clock that I should take the train at six," said Hautefeuille. "I understand," said Corancez; "you are sitting comfortably in your room at Cannes. You hear voices, like Jeanne d'Arc, only not quite the same; '_Rien ne va plus_. _Messieurs, faites vos jeux_;' and the bank-notes begin to pant in your purse, the napoleons to dance in your pocket, and before you know it you find yourself in front of the green cloth. Have you won?" "I never play," Pierre answered. "You will before long. But, tell me, do you often come here?" "This is the first time." "And you have been all winter at Cannes. I can still hear Du Prat calling you Mademoiselle Pierrette. You are too good and too young. Look out for the reaction. And, speaking of Du Prat, have you heard from him?" "He is still on the Nile with his wife," Hautefeuille replied, "and he insists upon my joining them." "And you wouldn't go and finish the wedding journey with them. That was even wiser than refusing to play. That is the result of not spending one's honeymoon here on the coast, like everybody else. They get bored with each other even before the housewarming."