"Here's a fine to-do over a trifle!" said La Thomassinière, rising from his chair; "I'll stake it on a single hand to-morrow, at a notary's, who's a friend of mine. That's where they play écarté! The table is covered with gold and bank-notes! Ah! there's some fun in that! But otherwise écarté's a very stupid game.--Well! are we going to bed?" "Go to bed, monsieur, who's preventing you?" said Athalie; "we don't need you." "Faith, I am terribly sleepy." "Baptiste will show you to your room, which is over this." "And where is mine, my dear, if you please?" queried the petite-maîtresse, as her husband went up to bed without bidding anyone good-night, because it was bad form. "Yours, my dear?" rejoined Madame Destival; "why, with your husband; we have only one room to offer you." "What! can it be by any chance that you are going to make me sleep with him?" "Why, of course." "Oh! that is absurd! Such a thing never occurred to me. I never sleep with Monsieur de la Thomassinière. I have my own suite, as you know." "For once, belle dame," said Destival, with a sly expression, "our dear husband will not complain." "Mon Dieu! how amusing!" exclaimed Athalie, sulkily. Meanwhile, Madame Monin, who had succeeded at last in tucking up her dress and putting on her shawl, said to Madame Destival with a simper: "For my part, I sleep with my husband, and I should just like to hear him mention a separate room! Ha! ha!" "You know perfectly well, Bichette, that I have no desire to----" "All right, Monsieur Monin, I know what I know.--Good-night, neighbors.--Well, monsieur, why don't you put on your cap? What sort of way is that to act?" Monin was afraid that his wife would discover the hole in his cap. He finally decided to wear it over his left ear, so that the top would be less visible to the eyes of his better half. And Madame Monin led her spouse away, promising him that she would never again let him dine out without her, because he was not careful of himself at the table, and wine made him plunge into all sorts of extravagance. When his neighbors had gone, Monsieur Destival admitted that the drilling had fatigued him terribly, and he speedily vanished. The music had cemented the intimacy between Dalville and the brilliant Athalie. With those who are capable of enjoying the charms of harmony, there is nothing that brings two hearts together so quickly as a sweet or tender ditty, or a passage overladen with passion, which the performers often address to each other. Music is a very potent auxiliary in love; it stirs the emotions, it speaks to the soul. Thank heaven, almost all our ladies know how to play the piano now. But Athalie rose, and Madame Destival escorted her to her apartment. Before going in, the petite-maîtresse laughingly said to her friend: "My dear, I must tell you something in confidence: I believe I've made a conquest of Monsieur Dalville." "Do you think so?"