"Marquis，" said Mascarin， whose whole face blazed with a gleam of conscious power， "twenty-five years ago I and my associates were young and in a very different position. We were honest then， and all the illusions of youth were in full force； we had faith and hope. We all then tenanted a wretched garret in the Rue de la Harpe， and loved each other like brothers.""That was long， long ago，" murmured Hortebise.
"Yes，" rejoined Mascarin； "and yet the effluxion of times does not hinder me from seeing things as they then were， and my heart aches as I compare the hopes of those days with the realities of the present.
Then， Marquis， we were poor， miserably poor， and yet we all had vague hopes of future greatness."Croisenois endeavored to conceal a sneer； the story was not a very interesting one.
"As I said before， each one of us anticipated a brilliant career.
Catenac had gained a prize by his 'Treatise on the Transfer of Real Estate，' and Hortebise had written a pamphlet regarding which the great Orfila had testified approval. Nor was I without my successes.
Hortebise had unluckily quarrelled with his family. Catenac's relatives were poor， and I， well， I had no family. I stood alone. We were literally starving， and I was the only one earning money. Iprepared pupils for the military colleges， but as I only earned twenty-five sous a day by cramming a dull boy's brain with algebra and geometry， that was not enough to feed us all. Well， to cut a long story short， the day came when we had not a coin among us. I forgot to tell you that I was devotedly attached to a young girl who was dying of consumption， and who had neither food nor fuel. What could I do？ Iknew not. Half mad， I rushed from the house， asking myself if I had better plead for charity or take the money I required by force from the first passer-by. I wandered along the quays， half inclined to confide my sorrow to the Seine， when suddenly I remembered it was a holiday at the Polytechnic School， and that if I went to the /CaféSemblon/ or the Palais Royal， I should most likely meet with some of my old pupils， who could perhaps lend me a few sous. Five francs perhaps， Marquis，--that is a very small sum， but in that day it meant the life of my dear Marie and of my two friends. Have you ever been hungry， M. de Croisenois？"De Croisenois started； he had never suffered from hunger， but how could he tell what the future might bring？ for his resources were so nearly exhausted， that even to-morrow he might be compelled to discard his fictitious splendor and sink into the abyss of poverty.
"When I reached the /Café Semblon/，" continued Mascarin， "I could not see a single pupil， and the waiter to whom I addressed my inquiries looked at me with the utmost contempt， for my clothes were in tatters；but at length he condescended to inform me that the young gentlemen had been and gone， but that they would return. I said that I would wait for them. The man asked me if I would take anything， and when Ireplied in the negative， contemptuously pointed to a chair in a distant corner， where I patiently took my seat. I had sat for some time， when suddenly a young man entered the /café/， whose face， were Ito live for a century， I shall never forget. He was perfectly livid， his features rigid， and his eyes wild and full of anguish. He was evidently in intense agony of mind or body. Evidently， however， it was not poverty that was oppressing him， for as he cast himself upon a sofa， all the waiters rushed forward to receive his orders. In a voice that was almost unintelligible， he asked for a bottle of brandy， and pen， ink， and paper. In some mysterious manner， the sight of this suffering brought balm to my aching heart. The order of the young man was soon executed， and pouring out a tumbler of brandy， he took a deep draught. The effect was instantaneous， he turned crimson， and for a moment almost fell back insensible. I kept my eyes on him， for a voice within me kept crying out that there was some mysterious link connecting this man and myself， and that his life was in some manner interwoven with mine， and that the influence he would exercise over me would be for evil. So strongly did this idea become rooted， that Ishould have left the /café/， had not my curiosity been so great. In the meantime the stranger had recovered himself， and seizing a pen， scrawled a few lines on a sheet of paper. Evidently he was not satisfied with his composition， for after reading it over， he lit a match and burnt the paper. He drank more brandy， and wrote a second letter， which， too， proved a failure， for he tore it to fragments， which he thrust into his waistcoat pocket. Again he commenced， using greater care. It was plain that he had forgotten where he was， for he gesticulated， uttered a broken sentence or two and evidently believed that he was in his own house. His last letter seemed to satisfy him， and he recopied it with care. He closed and directed it； then， tearing the original into pieces， he flung it under the table； then calling the waiter， he said， 'Here are twenty francs； take this letter to the address on the envelope. Bring the answer to my house； here is my card.' The man ran out of the room， and the nobleman， only waiting to pay his bill， followed almost immediately. The morsels of white paper beneath the table had a strange fascination for me； I longed to gather them up， to put them together， and to learn the secret of the strange drama that had been acted before me. But， as I have told you， then Iwas honest and virtuous， and the meanness of such an act revolted all my instincts； and I should have overcome this temptation， had it not been for one of those trifling incidents which too often form the turning-point of a life. A draught from a suddenly opened door caught one of these morsels of paper， and wafted it to my feet. I stooped and picked it up， and read on it the ominous words， 'blow out my brains！'
