"I should have liked to know what it was the little shirtmaker sent him," said the concierge. "You had it in your hands; couldn't you feel what there was inside the paper?" "Faith, no!" "Was it hard?" "No; it was soft." "Then it's probably a cheese that she had sent to her from her province." When he was alone, Monsieur de Mardeille lost no time in opening the parcel; it contained the little black petticoat that Georgette usually wore. "Her petticoat! She sends me her petticoat!" cried Monsieur de Mardeille. "What bitter mockery!" Then he unsealed the letter and read these words: "I told you that to-day you would be able to hold and fondle my little petticoat at your leisure. You see that I keep my word; here it is. You will think very badly of me, will you not, monsieur? Before you condemn me, wait until you have seen me again, which will be as soon as I can possibly arrange it. Yes, have no fear; you shall hear from me." Monsieur de Mardeille was speechless; the letter dropped from his hands. XVIII A BLASÉ YOUNG MAN It was a fortnight after the events we have narrated. In a very handsome apartment on Rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin, a young man attired in a superb robe de chambre was strolling listlessly from one room to another, smoking a cigarette. This young man was the Vicomte de Sommerston. The descendant of a very wealthy Irish family, Edward de Sommerston was born in France and had never chosen to visit the home of his ancestors. He had come into possession of an income of eighty thousand francs at the age of twenty-one, and had immediately plunged into the life of pleasure, dissipation, and debauchery which ages men so rapidly. He was tall, well built, handsome, and rich--this was twice more than enough to kill in ten years a man who was unable to resist his passions. The viscount was now twenty-nine; he was not dead yet, but he was not much better than that; he had not only used, but abused everything. The list of his mistresses was enormously long, especially as there were many of them whom he had known no more than a week, as he was an essentially fickle and capricious youth. The woman he adored to-day was an object of indifference to him to-morrow. Unluckily for him, he had never fallen in with any cruel charmers, his reputation as a rake and _mauvais sujet_ being, on the contrary, a powerful recommendation with the ladies to whom he addressed his homage.