Like a ruddy ember it lay in his hand.

"Paris! O prince of cities, there lies upon your stones the broken cup which held my youth!" The yellow of the candle and the red of the fire gave a singularly rich tone to his face, from which the dullness of intoxication was suddenly gone.
"Paul, you are breaking my heart," cried Victor, choking.

His poet's soul, and only such as his, could comprehend how full was the Chevalier's cup of misery.
"Only women's hearts break, lad, and then in verse.

Shall I weep?
No.
Let me laugh; for, my faith, it is laughable.

I brought it on myself.
Fate led me to the precipice, and I myself jumped over.