Besides, the last time you came to see me I thought you particularly jolly." "Yes, I remember," said M.Nioche, musingly; "I was in a fever.

I didn't know what I said, what I did.

It was delirium." "Ah, well, you are quieter now." M.Nioche was silent a moment.

"As quiet as the grave," he whispered softly.
"Are you very unhappy ?" M.Nioche rubbed his forehead slowly, and even pushed back his wig a little, looking askance at his empty glass.

"Yes--yes.