But this flirtation did not last long; the youth and the old woman appeared very much of the same opinion as to its impropriety; and accordingly, like experienced generals, resolved to conquer by a retreat; they drank up their orgeat--paid for it--placed the wavering regiment in the middle, and left me master of the field. I was not, however, of a disposition to break my heart at such an occurrence, and I remained by the window, drinking my lemonade, and muttering to myself, "After all, women are a great bore." On the outside of the cabaret, and just under my window, was a bench, which for a certain number of sous, one might appropriate to the entire and unparticipated use of one's self and party. An old woman (so at least I suppose by her voice, for I did not give myself the trouble of looking, though, indeed as to that matter, it might have been the shrill treble of Mr. Howard de Howard) had been hitherto engrossing this settlement with some gallant or other. In Paris, no women are too old to get an amant, either by love or money. In a moment of tenderness, this couple paired off, and were immediately succeeded by another. The first tones of the man's voice, low as they were, made me start from my seat. I cast one quick glance before I resumed it. The new pair were the Englishman I had before noted in the garden, and the female companion who had joined him. "Two hundred pounds, you say?" muttered the man; "we must have it all." "But," said the woman, in the same whispered voice, "he says, that he will never touch another card." The man laughed. "Fool," said he, "the passions are not so easily quelled--how many days is it since he had this remittance from England?" "About three," replied the woman. "And it is absolutely the very last remnant of his property?" "The last." "I am then to understand, that when this is spent there is nothing between him and beggary?" "Nothing," said the woman, with a half sigh. The man laughed again, and then rejoined in an altered tone, "Then, then will this parching thirst be quenched at last. I tell you, woman, that it is many months since I have known a day--night--hour, in which my life has been as the life of other men. My whole soul has been melted down into one burning, burning thought. Feel this hand--ay, you may well start--but what is the fever of the frame to that within?" Here the voice sunk so low as to be inaudible. The woman seemed as if endeavouring to sooth him; at length she said--"But poor Tyrrell--you will not, surely, suffer him to die of actual starvation?"