café, a year hence, to congratulate me on my talent and my triumphs." "So be it," said Adhémar; "and now it is Lucien's turn to speak." "I begin, messieurs, by telling you frankly that I have not succeeded at all; and yet I have not been enjoying myself--I have worked, worked hard, I have tried several branches of business in a small way, but I have not been successful; often, too, I have been deceived, _worked_, as they say, by persons who were supposed to be my partners, but who pocketed all the profits. But still I have not lost courage; I have just invented a new kind of pin for ladies' use; something tells me that it will be popular. I must tell you, too, that I am in love, and that the father of the woman I love will not give his daughter to any man who is not well settled in life." "What's that! you are in love, my poor Lucien, really in love?" said Adhémar. "Ah! that is what prevents you from succeeding! I pray you, do not take that sentiment seriously, or you will be its victim in the end; it will make you sad and unhappy, and then you will be laughed at." "I beg your pardon, Adhémar; but I don't agree with you. On the contrary, my love, far from making me unhappy, is my only comfort, my only hope; it supports me in adversity; for the woman I love loves me, and a word, a smile, from her makes me forget a whole week of gloom." "The rascal is loved, you see," said Philémon; "he has won the girl's heart to her father's beard; I know what that is, myself!" "Shall I kidnap your charmer for you, Lucien? shall I think up some trick to play on her daddy? Don't distress yourself--I am on hand!" "No, Dodichet, I thank you; she is not one of the kind who allow themselves to be kidnapped. She is virtuous and well brought up. She will never give herself to anyone but her husband; and if she were different, I should not love her." "Very good. But who is this barbarous father who refuses to approve his daughter's choice?" "Oh! he is a miser, a curmudgeon, a man who has no regard for anything but money. You will understand, from that, that he will not give his daughter any dowry; on the contrary, he would be more likely to demand one from his son-in-law." "What does the old skinflint do?" "Nothing, so he says; but, between ourselves, I think that he lends money at usurious rates. He is rich, but he is always complaining of the hard times; unluckily for him, he married a second time--a woman much younger than himself, who is supposed to have brought him some money; he wouldn't have married her otherwise. But she likes to enjoy herself, to receive company now and then; and that drives Monsieur Mirotaine to despair, for he wants to avoid any expense that can possibly be avoided." "Mirotaine, did you say, Lucien? Why, I know him; Mirotaine, formerly a bailiff, who lives now on Rue Saint-Louis, in the Marais?" "That's the very man. So you know him, do you, Philémon? Well, is my portrait of him overdrawn?"