"What have _we_ done?" cried the ladies in concert. "We ask for nothing better than to have everybody contented and happy." And they shrugged their pretty white shoulders as if to throw off the burden that St. Hilaire had placed there. "Look at me," exclaimed St. Hilaire, rising and speaking with an animation he had not shown before. He was a man of twenty-five with a face so handsome that dissipation had not been able to mar its beauty. "I am a type of my class." "An honor to it," said the poet. "Thank you; then you will agree that the cap which I put on will fit other heads as well. I have wasted two fortunes." "St. Hilaire is in one of his remorseful moods," whispered de Lacheville in the ear of Madame de Rémur. "I have spent them in riotous living with men like myself." Here he looked at de Lacheville. "I feel deeply honored, my dear marquis," said the latter, bowing. "When I wanted more money I knew where to get it." "Happy fellow," called out de Lacheville with a laugh. "I went to the steward who managed my estates. I have estates, or rather had them, for they are now mortgaged to the last notch, in Normandy, Picardy, Auvergne and Poitou--I would say to my steward, 'I need more money.'" "'Very well, monsieur le marquis, but I must put on the screws a little to get it.' "'Put on a dozen if you like, but get me the funds.' "'It shall be done, monsieur le marquis.' "Again and again I went to him for money. He always responded in the same manner, but each time the screws had to be turned a little tighter. Do you suppose my peasants love me for that? No, they hate me just as yours hate you, de Lacheville, and yours hate you, d'Arlincourt." De Lacheville laughed, and the count lifted up his hand in denial. "I knew that the day of reckoning would come," St. Hilaire went on. "Every time I went to Monsieur Rignot, my steward, every time he put on the screws at my request, I knew it was bringing us nearer the final smash." "Us!" repeated d'Arlincourt, with a gesture of impatience. "Yes, us," said St. Hilaire; "we are all in the same boat, but we have all done the same thing in a greater or less degree. We shall all have to pay the penalty." "There is where I differ with you, my dear marquis," said the Count d'Arlincourt; "I am willing to take what responsibility falls to me by right, but I emphatically refuse to pay the penalty of your follies." "My follies are but those of my class. You may have been an exception yourself, d'Arlincourt, but that will not save you." "What penalties must we pay? Save him from what?" demanded the pretty countess, looking at St. Hilaire with her large blue eyes. "From the revolution," was the answer. There was a general exclamation of surprise. D'Arlincourt took up the word.