I next proceeded to initiate my gentleman into the mysteries of the _chateau_; and as dinner was about serving, I suggested that the most important of our domestic rites on such occasions, imperatively required three or four bottles of first-rate claret. By this time we had acquired a tolerable knack of "slaughtering the evening." Our Spanish girls supplied us with guitars and violins, which my comrades touched with some skill. We were thus enabled to give an occasional _soiree dansante_, assisted by la Vivandiere, her companions Dolorescita, Concha, Madame Sorret, and an old maid who passed for her sister. The arrival of the counterfeiter enabled us to make up a full cotillon without the musicians. Our _soirees_, enlivened by private contributions and a bottle or two of wine, took place on Thursdays and Sundays, while the rest of the week was passed in playing cards, reading romances, writing petitions, flirting with the girls, and cursing our fate and the French government. Fits of wrath against the majesty of Gaul were more frequent in the early morning, when the pleasant sleeper would be suddenly roused from happy dreams by the tramp of soldiers and grating bolts, which announced the unceremonious entrance of our inspector to count his cattle and sound our window gratings. But time wastes one's cash as well as one's patience in prison. The more we grumbled, danced, drank, and eat, the more we spent or lavished, so that my funds looked very like a thin sediment at the bottom of the purse, when I began to reflect upon means of replenishing. I could not beg; I was master of no handicraft; nor was I willing to descend among the vermin of the common chain-gang. Shame prevented an application to my relatives in France or Italy; and when I addressed my old partner or former friends in Cuba, I was not even favored with a reply. At last, my little trinkets and gold chronometer were sacrificed to pay the lawyer for a _final memorial_ and to liquidate a week's lodging in advance.