And old le Roué the “Extraordinary,” old le Roué “the Monster,” smiles, winks a dim eye and laughs. But it has to be stated that his smile is a leer and that his laugh is a cackle. From Sucré’s restaurant M. le Roué proceeds slowly, leaning heavily on his walking-stick, to a quiet, comfortable café, where he meets another heroic old rake—the Marquis de Mô. But there is this striking difference between the two: whereas old le Roué is delicately made, frail, shrunken, old de Mô is enormous, apoplectic, with flowing white whiskers, a round, bumpy bald head, a fiery complexion and a huge gouty foot which is ever encased in a wonderful elastic shoe. Le Roué and de Mô rejoiced extravagantly together in the latter brilliant days of the Second Empire. And to-day, in the year of 1912, they love to recall their past conquests, duels, follies, and never tire of abusing the Republican régime. “What a Government, what an age!” complains le Roué. “Abominable—odious—sinister,” declares de Mô. Also, our superannuated _viveurs_ recall affectionate memories of a dear, mutual friend, the late Comte Robert de Barsac, who died last year, of a vague illness, shortly after he had riotously celebrated his seventieth birthday. The truth was, old de Barsac could not keep pace with old le Roué and old de Mô. His face became leaden in colour and his speech rambling and incoherent. And one night, he suddenly passed away in his sleep from exhaustion. “Ce pauvre cher Robert!” exclaims le Roué sadly. “Ce pauvre cher Robert!” sighs de Mô. Then there is another old friend, still living, of whom le Roué and de Mô speak affectionately as they sit together in their corner of the quiet, comfortable café. She is “Madeline”—who, once upon a time, was the “star” actress at the Variétés theatre. In truth, Marguerite de Prèsles (as she figured on the bills) was something of a queen: the queen of the half-world. The newspapers of that period, in alluding to her wit, beauty and charm, called her the “exquisite Madeline”; the “adorable Madeline”; the “incomparable” Madeline de Prèsles. Le Roué and de Mô worshipped at her shrine. And to-day—forty years after—they often visit her at Pichon’s gaudy night restaurant: where the “adorable” Variétés actress of years ago makes constant rounds of the place—with tinselled boxes of chocolates and a basket of flowers! Yes; “Madeline” sells chocolates and flowers _chez_ Pichon! And the gold hair has turned white and the slim figure has swollen, and the once pretty, bejewelled little hands have become knotted and coarse; and the old lady herself—the former radiant “star” of the Variétés—lives in a sombre _hôtel meublé_ on the outskirts of Paris, where she passes most of the day in making up bouquets and button-holes for the painted, rackety company that assembles nightly at Pichon’s.