another, and he drink them both, and he begin to walk up and down
the floor. He sway now and then, but he keep on for a long time.
Once a servant come, but he wave him away, and he scowl and talk to
himself, and shut the doors and lock them. Then he walk on and on.
At last he sit down, and he face me. In front of him are candles,
and he stare between them, and stare and stare. I sit and watch,
and I feel a pity. I hear him say, 'Antoinette! Antoinette! My dear
Antoinette! We are lost forever, my Antoinette!' Then he take the
purse from his pocket, and throw it up to the balcony where I am.
'Pretty sins,' he say, 'follow the sinner!' It lie there, and it
have sprung open, and I can see the jewels shine, but I not touch
it--no. Well, he sit there long--long, and his face get gray and
his cheeks all hollow.

"I hear the clock strike one! two! three! four! Once some
one come and try the door, but go away again, and he never stir;
he is like a dead man. At last I fall asleep. When I wake up, he
still sit there, but his head lie in his arms. I look round. Ah,
it is not a fine sight--no. The candles burn so low, and there is
a smell of wick, and the grease runs here and there down the great
candlesticks. Upon the floor, this place and that, is a card, and
pieces of paper, and a scarf, and a broken glass, and something
that shine by a small table. This is a picture in a little gold
frame. On all the tables stand glasses, some full, and some empty of
wine. And just as the dawn come in through the tall windows, a cat
crawl out from somewhere, all ver' thin and shy, and walk across the
floor; it make the room look so much alone. At last it come and move
against m'sieu's legs, and he lift his head and look down at it, and
nod, and say something which I not hear. After that he get up, and
pull himself together with a shake, and walk down the room. Then