“Oh! never fear, you shall have it; you must make more notes; and besides, the luck will change; no one is unlucky all the time; there are ways of arranging with fortune.” “There are?” “Yes, yes; you shall know them later. But it is beginning to be light, and it’s time to go to bed. Come home with me; to-morrow we will think about our affairs.” Dufresne led Edouard away; and he, bewildered, crushed, desperate on account of his late experiences, was already afraid to cast a glance behind, or to face what the future had in store for him. XXIII VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF A GAMBLING HOUSE “Look here, we must see about settling your affairs now,” said Dufresne, as he rose after the stormy night at Madame de Géran’s. “You must make more notes for about fifteen thousand francs, and I will try to discount them. I confess, however, that it is more difficult than I thought. People are none too anxious to have our signatures. They are becoming more exacting. Only a few Jews will take them, and they demand fifty per cent. What do you say to that?” “That traitress, to betray me for a lackey!” “What! you are still thinking of your faithless one! What folly!” “If I could revenge myself!” “The best revenge is to spend money freely, to live magnificently; then she will regret you. So you see that you still need money. I am going out to obtain some. Meanwhile, do not allow yourself to give way to melancholy, and throw off this languor, which will lead to nothing good. Go and take a turn at the card tables. That is where you will recover your nerve and your ideas.” “I haven’t a sou; what sort of figure should I cut there?” “You must think up some method of winning. Au revoir; I am going to get some money.” Dufresne went out and Murville went home. He found a letter from his wife there; it was the sixth she had written him since she had gone to the country, but Edouard had never replied. He had read the first ones; they contained Adeline’s wishes for his welfare, entreaties that he would take care of his health, but not a word of love; Adeline no longer dared to mention hers. To speak of one’s affection to a faithless lover is like speaking of colors to a blind man, of music to a deaf man, of manners to a savage. Edouard had ceased to read his wife’s letters, because he did not know what to reply. His heart said nothing, and his conscience said too much. He hardened the one, and did not listen to the other. The season was advanced; he was afraid that Adeline would talk of returning, and he felt that her presence would embarrass him more than ever. He desired to conceal from her the condition of his affairs, which confirmed only too fully the fears that his wife and his mother-in-law had manifested. On entering his apartments, the business agent was greatly surprised to find bailiffs proceeding to levy upon his furniture. “What does this mean,” cried Edouard; “who has sent you to my house?”