"Well, then, my good Richard, you confess that, if the uncle of the marquis had not had the same avarice which you possessed, this generous fellow would not have been able to give work to so many families." "That is true, my dear doctor, so, under the name of Saint-Ramon, as the marquis has jestingly christened his uncle, the memory of this famous miser is blessed by everybody." "It is inconceivable, abbé," said the canon, "the doctor must be right. I am confounded with what I hear and with what I see. We are actually going to dine with the seven deadly sins." "M. Henri David!" said the valet. At this name the countenance of the doctor became grave; he walked up to David, took both his hands with effusive tenderness, and said: "Pardon me for having insisted upon your acceptance of this invitation, my dear David, but I promised my excellent friend and pupil, Doctor Dufour, who recommended you to me, to try to divert you during your short sojourn in Paris." "And I feel the need of these diversions, I assure you, sir. Down there our life is so calm, so regular, that hours slip away unperceived; but here, lost in the turmoil of this great city to which I have become a stranger, I feel these paroxysms of painful sadness, and I thank you a thousand times for having provided for me such an agreeable distraction." Henri David was talking thus to the doctor when seven o'clock sounded. The canon uttered a profound sigh of satisfaction as he saw the steward open the folding doors of the dining-room. CONCLUSION. At the moment the guests of the doctor were about to enter the dining-room, the valet announced: "Madame the Marquise de Miranda." "Luxury," whispered the doctor to the abbé. "I feared she might fail us." Then offering his arm to Madeleine, more beautiful, more bewitching than ever, the doctor said, as he conducted her to the dining-room: "I had just begun to despair of the good fortune you had promised me, madame. Listen to me, at my age the happiness of seeing you here again you must know is inexpressible. Ah, if I were only fifty years younger!" "I would take you for my cavalier, my dear doctor," said the marquise, laughing extravagantly; "I think we have been friends, at the least estimate, for fifty years."