The day his father died--it is sad to relate that it was a festival-day for Becquet, who made merry in heart and purse--he dined at the _café de Paris_ and ordered his menu like a man who is regardless of cost; but, when it came to the wine, he called the waiter; some doubt had probably arisen in his mind, and he wished the opinion of an expert. "Waiter," he asked, "is the Bordeaux in mourning?" Two hours later, they carried Becquet home. One night, I met Becquet in one of those marvellous states of intoxication that he alone could carry off in such lordly style. It was on the 21st of January. "What!" said I to him, "drunk on this day of all days, Becquet?" "May I ask if there is, perchance, any day on which a man may not be drunk if he likes?" asked the author of _Mouchoir bleu_ in amazement. "Certainly, I should have thought there was, especially for you who are a Royalist, it being the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI." Becquet seemed to reflect for an instant over the gravity of my observation; then, placing a hand on my shoulder-- "If they had not cut off the head of good King Louis XVI., do you suppose he would be dead now?" "It is more than probable." "Well, then," said Becquet, carelessly snapping his fingers, "how can you say anything to me?" And off he went with the aplomb of the drunkard, who, from long practice, has learnt to be superior to the general run of drinkers in being always able to walk straight when intoxicated. It was when dead-drunk, after having left the house of Mademoiselle Mars, that Becquet wrote the famous article for the _Journal des Débats_ which concluded with the following words, and which overthrew the monarchy:-- "Malheureuse France! Malheureux roi!" "Unfortunate France! Unfortunate King!" Becquet died of drink and died whilst drinking. For the last six months of his life he was never sober: his eyes became dull and expressionless; his actions were involuntary and instinctive; his hand mechanically felt for the bottle to pour wine into his glass, which he had not sufficient strength to empty. To the last moment, Mademoiselle Mars received him with the whole-hearted friendship that was one of her finest virtues. When Becquet died, she had not the heart to regret him although she shed tears at the news.