"There goes the pearl of friends; I don't know the pearls upon which Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie are employed, but a real friend is worth far more than all the treasures of Golconda, and is much rarer too. I was on the point of mentioning a certain idea that I have got into my head relative to little Adolphine, the pretty widow's sister; but I thought, on reflection, that I should do better to say nothing about it. What good would it do to tell him that I think poor Adolphine's in love with him, when he still loves Fanny? It would make him unhappy, and that's all; he wouldn't dare to go to Papa Gerbault's to talk about his dear Fanny. I certainly did well to hold my tongue. Let's see what he slipped into my hand. Generous Gustave! he is quite capable of loaning me five hundred francs more." Cherami unfolded the banknote which he held in his hand, and was thunderstruck when he saw that it was for a thousand francs. Having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, Cherami stuffed the note into his cigar-case, muttering: "A thousand francs! he gave me a thousand francs, and said: 'When that's gone, let me know!' Sacrebleu! this unexpected wealth bewilders me. That young man's behavior touches me; it makes me blush for my own. Come, Arthur, my good friend, do you propose to continue your dissipation, your foolish courses? And because you have fallen in with a whole-souled fellow who gave you money without counting it, are you going to work, as usual, to waste that money as you wasted your fortune? I say _no_! par la sambleu! I will not do it; I propose to show myself worthy to be Gustave's friend. From this day forth, I turn over a new leaf, I become a reasonable man, I put water in my wine; and, for a beginning, I will go and dine for thirty-two sous." While Cherami was forming these excellent resolutions, Gustave betook himself, without loss of time, to Monsieur Gerbault's house. Adolphine was alone, trying, by dint of practising diligently on the piano, to forget for a moment the secret pain which was gnawing at her heart. Fanny's sister had changed perceptibly in the last few months; a genuine passion does not leave one unscathed; at nineteen years of age, such a passion occupies one's every moment, obtrudes itself upon one's every thought. The girl's features bore traces of her suffering; her face had grown thin and pale, and constantly wore an expression of sadness, which she strove, but in vain, to hide beneath a smile in the presence of others; and her sister's company was not likely to afford her any distraction, because she talked almost incessantly of the man whom Adolphine would have been glad to forget.