How bravely she lends us our excesses! When we are young, Folly is a boon companion.

She opens her purse to us, laughing.

But let her find that we have overdrawn our account with nature, then does Folly throw aside her smiling mask, become terrible with her importunities, and hound us into the grave.

I am paying Folly, Monsieur," exhibiting a palsied hand.

"I am paying in precious hours for the dross she lent me in my youth." Chaumonot could not contain his indignation against this fallacious reasoning.