"The funniest thing to me is Marechal taking a holiday," observed Savinien. "They are still at dinner," he added, entering the drawing- room, through the great doors of which sounds of voices and rattling of plates were heard. "Well, let us wait for them; we are in agreeable company," said Herzog, turning toward Marechal, who only answered by a cold bow. "What are you going to do here, Marechal?" inquired Savinien. "You will be awfully bored." "Why? Once in a way I am going to enjoy myself and be a swell. You will teach me, Monsieur Savinien. It cannot be very difficult. It is only necessary to wear a dove-colored coat like you, a gardenia in my buttonhole like Monsieur Le Bride, frizzled hair like Monsieur du Tremblay, and to assail the bank at Monaco." "Like all these gentlemen," said Suzanne, gayly, "you are a gambler then?" "I have never touched a card." "But then you ought to have great good luck," said the young girl. Herzog had come up to them. "Will you go partners?" he asked of Marechal. "We will divide the winnings." "You are too kind," replied Marechal, dryly, turning away. He could not get used to Herzog's familiarity, and there was something in the man which displeased him greatly. There was, he thought, a police- court atmosphere about him. Suzanne, on the contrary, interested him. The simple, lively, and frank young girl attracted him, and he liked to talk with her. On several occasions, at Madame Desvarennes's, he had been her partner. There was through this a certain intimacy between them which he could not extend to the father. Herzog had that faculty, fortunately for him, of never appearing offended at what was said to him. He took Savinien's arm in a familiar manner and asked: "Have you noticed that the Prince has looked very preoccupied for the last few days?" "I don't wonder at it," replied Savinien. "He has been very unlucky at cards. It is all very well for his wife, my charming cousin, to be rich, but if he is going on like that it won't last long!" The two men withdrew to the window. Suzanne went up to Marechal. She had resumed her thoughtful air. He saw her advancing, and, guessing what she was going to say, felt uncomfortable at having to tell an untruth if he did not wish to hurt her feelings by brutal frankness. "Monsieur Marechal," she began, "how is it that you are always so cold and formal with my father?" "My dear young lady, there is a great difference between your father and me. I keep my place, that's all." The young girl shook her head sadly. "It is not that; you are amiable and ever friendly with me--" "You are a woman, and the least politeness--"