Was he boasting, or was he speaking the truth? The baron was engaged in a rapid calculation. “What does Valorsay spend a year?” he was saying to himself. “Let us say two hundred and fifty thousand francs for his stable; forty thousand francs for Ninette Simplon; eighty thousand for his household expenses, and at least thirty thousand for personal matters, travelling, and play. All this amounts to something like four hundred and thirty thousand francs a year. Does his income equal that sum? Certainly not. Then he must have been living on the principal--he is ruined.” Meanwhile the marquis gayly continued: “You see, I’m going to make a change in my mode of life. Ah! it surprises you! But one must make an end of it, sooner or later. I begin to find a bachelor life not so very pleasant after all; there is rheumatism in prospect, and my digestion is becoming impaired--in short, I feel that it is time for marriage, baron; and--I am about to marry.” “You!” “Yes, I. What, haven’t you heard of it, yet? It has been talked of at the club for three days or more.” “No, this is the first intimation I have received of it. It is true, however, that I have not been to the club for three days. I have made a wager with Kami-Bey, you know--that rich Turk--and as our sittings are eight or ten hours long, we play in his apartments at the Grand Hotel. And so you are to be married,” the baron continued, after a slight pause. “Ah, well! I know one person who won’t be pleased.” “Who, pray?” “Ninette Simplon.” M. de Valorsay laughed heartily. “As if that would make any difference to me!” he exclaimed. And then in a most confidential manner he resumed: “She will soon be consoled. Ninette Simplon is a shrewd girl--a girl whom I have always suspected of having an account book in place of a heart. I know she has at least three hundred thousand francs safely invested; her furniture and diamonds are worth as much more. Why should she regret me? Add to this that I have promised her fifty thousand francs to dry her tears with on my wedding-day, and you will understand that she really longs to see me married.” “I understand,” replied the baron; “Ninette Simplon won’t trouble you. But I can’t understand why you should talk of economy on the eve of a marriage which will no doubt double your fortune; for I’m sure you won’t surrender your liberty without good and substantial reasons.” “You are mistaken.” “How mistaken?” “Well, I won’t hesitate to confess to you, my dear baron, that the girl I am about to marry hasn’t a penny of her own. My future wife has no dowry save her black eyes--but they are certainly superb ones.” This assertion seemed to disprove Pascal’s statements. “Can it really be you who are talking in this strain?” cried the baron. “You, a practical, worldly man, give way to such a burst of sentiment?” “Well, yes.” The baron opened his eyes in astonishment. “Ah! then you adore your future bride!” “Adore only feebly expresses my feelings.”