Malicorne, then, left Blois, as we have said, and went to find his friend, Manicamp, then in temporary retreat in the city of Orleans. It was just at the moment when that young nobleman was employed in selling the last decent clothing he had left. He had, a fortnight before, extorted from the Comte de Guiche a hundred pistoles, all he had, to assist in equipping him properly to go and meet Madame, on her arrival at Le Havre. He had drawn from Malicorne, three days before, fifty pistoles, the price of the _brevet_ obtained for Montalais. He had then no expectation of anything else, having exhausted all his resources, with the exception of selling a handsome suit of cloth and satin, embroidered and laced with gold, which had been the admiration of the court. But to be able to sell this suit, the last he had left,--as we have been forced to confess to the reader--Manicamp had been obliged to take to his bed. No more fire, no more pocket-money, no more walking-money, nothing but sleep to take the place of repasts, companies and balls. It has been said--“He who sleeps, dines;” but it has never been affirmed--He who sleeps, plays--or, He who sleeps, dances. Manicamp, reduced to this extremity of neither playing nor dancing, for a week at least, was, consequently, very sad; he was expecting a usurer, and saw Malicorne enter. A cry of distress escaped him. “Eh! what!” said he, in a tone which nothing can describe, “is that you again, dear friend?” “Humph! you are very polite!” said Malicorne. “Ay, but look you, I was expecting money, and, instead of money, I see _you_.” “And suppose I brought you some money?” “Oh! that would be quite another thing. You are very welcome, my dear friend!” And he held out his hand, not for the hand of Malicorne, but for the purse. Malicorne pretended to be mistaken, and gave him his hand. “And the money?” said Manicamp. “My dear friend, if you wish to have it, earn it.” “What must be done for it?” “Earn it, _parbleu!_” “And after what fashion?” “Oh! that is rather trying, I warn you.” “The devil!” “You must get out of bed, and go immediately to M. le Comte de Guiche.” “I get up!” said Manicamp, stretching himself in his bed, complacently, “oh, no, thank you!” “You have sold all your clothes?” “No, I have one suit left, the handsomest even, but I expect a purchaser.” “And the _chausses?_” “Well, if you look, you will see them on that chair.” “Very well! since you have some _chausses_ and a _pourpoint_ left, put your legs into the first and your back into the other; have a horse saddled, and set off.” “Not I.” “And why not?” “_Morbleu!_ don’t you know, then, that M. de Guiche is at Etampes?” “No, I thought he was at Paris. You will then only have fifteen leagues to go, instead of thirty.”