"Oh, yes! to be sure! I haven't told you how he came to be ruined. The first reason why I haven't is that I don't know anything about it; but still, it's easy enough to guess: the fellow acted like a goose, gambling, spending a lot, and paying his mistresses. I've said to him twenty times: 'Auguste, you're driving too hard!' Yes, I've told him so very often, but I always used the familiar thou, because I knew him when he was such a little fellow!" "I should have said the young gentleman was about your age," said Mère Fourcy. "So he is, very near; but we were brought up together--we had the same nurse--so that I'm deeply attached to him; and although he lives on the fifth floor now, that won't prevent my going to breakfast with him, as I told Bertrand yesterday, when he told me that the funds were low." "But Monsieur Auguste must be very unhappy, it must make him very sad to be ruined," sighed Denise. "He, my dear girl! not a bit of it! Oh! you don't know him; he's just as wild and heedless as ever. Bertrand said so yesterday. Poor Bertrand! I saw a tear in his eye while he was telling me about his master's follies! He's a faithful servant, that fellow, a real friend! Give me something to drink, Semiramis, for, I notice that, while I am talking, you do nothing but fill your own glass. Semiramis is the name of an estate belonging to my cousin; she has estates in all the suburbs of Paris." "I say, Denise," cried Mère Fourcy, "if that gentleman's lost his money, hadn't we ought to give back what he left for Coco? What a pity the cottage is all built!" "What's given is given, Madame Fourcy," said Virginie; "that's a principle I've never departed from. It's a mistake to act on the theory of returning what you've received." "Ah! if I had all I've given to Théodore!" "He's a husband of my cousin. She's given him the measles twice, and you can understand that she wouldn't be overjoyed to have them returned. Give me something to drink, Semiramis." Denise took no further part in the conversation; she was pensive and entirely engrossed by what she had learned on the subject of the young gentleman from Paris. The two grisettes, finding themselves very comfortable at the table, jabbered to their hearts' content. Mère Fourcy opened her eyes and ears, not always able to understand the pretty stories that those ladies told her; but as they did not give her a chance to put in a word, there was nothing for her to do but to stare in amazement. They had been at table a long time, Mère Fourcy seated between them, doing nothing but turn her head from side to side. Denise had left the room, unobserved; the poor child's heart was heavy; thinking that Auguste was in distress, she longed to let her tears flow and wished to conceal them from the Parisians. Coco, who was playing in the yard, saw her pass. The boy saw that she was unhappy, so he dropped his toys, ran to her and said: "What's the matter, my little Denise?"