It was _Les Chants du Crepuscule_, and thus the page sang: "Laisse-toi donc aimer! Car l'amour, c'est la vie, C'est tout ce qu'on regrette et tout ce qu'on envie Quand on voit sa jeunesse au couchant decliner.
Sans lui rien n'est complet, sans lui rien ne rayonne.
La beaute c'est le front, l'amour c'est la couronne.
Laisse-toi couronner!" His own lines sounded a sad jingle; he grew ashamed of them, and in the weariness of his passions he fell asleep.
He had left till to-morrow the visit he owed to John Jacks.

It was not pleasant, the thought of calling at the house at Queen's Gate; Mrs.
Jacks might have heard strange things about him on that mad evening three years ago.

Yet in decency he must go; perhaps, too, in self-interest.

And at the wonted hour he went.
Fortunately; for John Jacks seemed unfeignedly glad to see him, and talked with him in private for half an hour after the observances of the drawing-room, where Mrs.Jacks had been very sweetly proper and properly sweet.

In the library, much more at his ease, Otway told what he had before him, all the details of his commercial project.
"It occurs to me," said John Jacks--who was looking far from well, and at times spoke with an effort--"that I may be able to be of some use in this matter.