d'Ysembourg," she said, assuming the airs of a Dorine. "One morning,
one of the most beplumed countesses of the Imperial court came to the
house and wanted to speak to the marshal privately. I put myself in
the way of hearing what she said. She burst into tears and confided to
that booby of a marshal--yes, the Conde of the Republic is a booby!
--that her husband, who served under him in Spain, had left her without
means, and if she didn't get a thousand francs, or two thousand, that
day her children must go without food; she hadn't any for the morrow.
The marshal, who was always ready to give in those days, took two
notes of a thousand francs each out of his desk, and gave them to her.
I saw that fine countess going down the staircase where she couldn't
see me. She was laughing with a satisfaction that certainly wasn't
motherly, so I slipped after her to the peristyle where I heard her
say to the coachman, 'To Leroy's.' I ran round quickly to Leroy's, and
there, sure enough, was the poor mother. I got there in time to see
her order and pay for a fifteen-hundred-franc dress; you understand
that in those days people were made to pay when they bought. The next
day but one she appeared at an ambassador's ball, dressed to please
all the world and some one in particular. That day I said to myself:
'I've got a career! When I'm no longer young I'll lend money to great
ladies on their finery; for passion never calculates, it pays
blindly.' If you want subjects for a vaudeville I can sell you
plenty."

She departed after delivering this tirade, in which all the phases of
her past life were outlined, leaving Gazonal as much horrified by her
revelations as by the five yellow teeth she showed when she tried to
smile.

"What shall we do now?" he asked presently.