was hopeless, at least for the present, because it had ceased, at least for the present, to be a cause. His political creed thus shaken, with it was shaken also that adherence to the past which had stifled his ambition of a future. That ambition began to breathe and to stir, though he owned it not to others, though, as yet, he scarce distinguished its whispers, much less directed its movements towards any definite object. Meanwhile, all that he knew of his ambition was the new-born desire for social success. We see him, then, under the quick operation of this change in sentiments and habits, reclined on the _fauteuil_ before his fireside, and listening to his college friend, of whom we have so long lost sight, Frederic Lemercier. Frederic had breakfasted with Alain,--a breakfast such as might have contented the author of the "Almanach des Gourmands," and provided from the cafe Anglais. Frederic has just thrown aside his regalia. "Pardieu! my dear Alain. If Louvier has no sinister object in the generosity of his dealings with you, he will have raised himself prodigiously in my estimation. I shall forsake, in his favour, my allegiance to Duplessis, though that clever fellow has just made a wondrous coup in the Egyptians, and I gain forty thousand francs by having followed his advice. But if Duplessis has a head as long as Louvier's, he certainly has not an equal greatness of soul. Still, my dear friend, will you pardon me if I speak frankly, and in the way of a warning homily?" "Speak; you cannot oblige me more." "Well, then, I know that you can no more live at Paris in the way you are doing, or mean to do, without some fresh addition to your income, than a lion could live in the Jardin des Plantes upon an allowance of two mice a week." "I don't see that. Deducting what I pay to my aunt,--and I cannot get her to take more than six thousand francs a year,--I have seven hundred napoleons left, net and clear. My rooms and stables are equipped, and I have twenty-five hundred francs in hand. On seven hundred napoleons a year, I calculate that I can very easily live as I do; and if I fail-- well, I must return to Pochebriant. Seven hundred napoleons a year will be a magnificent rental there." Frederic shook his head. "You do not know how one expense leads to another. Above all, you do not calculate the chief part of one's expenditure,--the unforeseen. You will play at the Jockey Club, and lose half your income in a night." "I shall never touch a card." "So you say now, innocent as a lamb of the force of example. At all events, _beau seigneur_, I presume you are not going to resuscitate the part of the Ermite de la Chaussee d'Antin; and the fair Parisiennes are demons of extravagance." "Demons whom I shall not court." "Did I say you would? They will court you. Before another month has flown you will be inundated with billets-doux."