“So happy, my dear friend, that I am sometimes uneasy, for the good God is too kind to me. It is true, though, I had to work very hard. For instance, I passed two years in Spain--in the mountains of that infernal country. There I built a fairy palace for the Marquis of Buena-Vista, a great nobleman, who had seen my plan at the Exhibition and was delighted with it. This was the beginning of my fortune; but you must not imagine that my profession alone has enriched me so quickly. I made some successful speculations--some unheard of chances in lands; and, I beg you to believe, honestly, too. Still, I am not a millionaire; but you know I had nothing, and my wife less; now, my house paid for, we have ten thousand francs’ income left. It is not a fortune for us, living in this style; but I still work and keep good courage, and my Juliette is happy in her paradise!” “She wears no more soiled cuffs, then?” said Camors. “I warrant she does not! Indeed, she has a slight tendency to luxury--like all women, you know. But I am delighted to see you remember so well our college follies. I also, through all my distractions, never forgot you a moment. I even had a foolish idea of asking you to my wedding, only I did not dare. You are so brilliant, so petted, with your establishment and your racers. My wife knows you very well; in fact, we have talked of you a hundred thousand times. Since she patronizes the turf and subscribes for ‘The Sport’, she says to me, ‘Your friend’s horse has won again’; and in our family circle we rejoice over your triumphs.” A flush tinged the cheek of Camors as he answered, quietly, “You are really too good.” They walked a moment in silence over the gravel path bordered by grass, before Lescande spoke again. “And yourself, dear friend, I hope that you also are happy.” “I--happy!” Camors seemed a little astonished. “My happiness is simple enough, but I believe it is unclouded. I rise in the morning, ride to the Bois, thence to the club, go to the Bois again, and then back to the club. If there is a first representation at any theatre, I wish to see it. Thus, last evening they gave a new piece which was really exquisite. There was a song in it, beginning: ‘He was a woodpecker, A little woodpecker, A young woodpecker--’ and the chorus imitated the cry of the woodpecker! Well, it was charming, and the whole of Paris will sing that song with delight for a year. I also shall do like the whole of Paris, and I shall be happy.” “Good heavens! my friend,” laughed Lescande, “and that suffices you for happiness?” “That and--the principles of ‘eighty-nine,” replied Camors, lighting a fresh cigar from the old one. Here their dialogue was broken by the fresh voice of a woman calling from the blinds of the balcony-- “Is that you, Theodore?” Camors raised his eyes and saw a white hand, resting on the slats of the blind, bathed in sunlight.