“How?” cried the young man. “Are you, too, ruined? Is this supper a folly like my cream tarts? Has the devil brought three of his own together for a last carouse?” “The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing,” returned Prince Florizel; “and I am so much touched by this coincidence, that, although we are not entirely in the same case, I am going to put an end to the disparity. Let your heroic treatment of the last cream tarts be my example.” So saying, the Prince drew out his purse and took from it a small bundle of bank-notes. “You see, I was a week or so behind you, but I mean to catch you up and come neck and neck into the winning-post,” he continued. “This,” laying one of the notes upon the table, “will suffice for the bill. As for the rest—” He tossed them into the fire, and they went up the chimney in a single blaze. The young man tried to catch his arm, but as the table was between them his interference came too late. “Unhappy man,” he cried, “you should not have burned them all! You should have kept forty pounds.” “Forty pounds!” repeated the Prince. “Why, in heaven’s name, forty pounds?” “Why not eighty?” cried the Colonel; “for to my certain knowledge there must have been a hundred in the bundle.” “It was only forty pounds he needed,” said the young man gloomily. “But without them there is no admission. The rule is strict. Forty pounds for each. Accursed life, where a man cannot even die without money!” The Prince and the Colonel exchanged glances. “Explain yourself,” said the latter. “I have still a pocket-book tolerably well lined, and I need not say how readily I should share my wealth with Godall. But I must know to what end: you must certainly tell us what you mean.” The young man seemed to awaken; he looked uneasily from one to the other, and his face flushed deeply. “You are not fooling me?” he asked. “You are indeed ruined men like me?” “Indeed, I am for my part,” replied the Colonel. “And for mine,” said the Prince, “I have given you proof. Who but a ruined man would throw his notes into the fire? The action speaks for itself.” “A ruined man—yes,” returned the other suspiciously, “or else a millionaire.” “Enough, sir,” said the Prince; “I have said so, and I am not accustomed to have my word remain in doubt.” “Ruined?” said the young man. “Are you ruined, like me? Are you, after a life of indulgence, come to such a pass that you can only indulge yourself in one thing more? Are you”—he kept lowering his voice as he went on—“are you going to give yourselves that last indulgence? Are you going to avoid the consequences of your folly by the one infallible and easy path? Are you going to give the slip to the sheriff’s officers of conscience by the one open door?” Suddenly he broke off and attempted to laugh. “Here is your health!” he cried, emptying his glass, “and good night to you, my merry ruined men.” Colonel Geraldine caught him by the arm as he was about to rise.