THE LAST ROUT Time doled out to the marquis a lagging hour.

There were moments when the sounds of merriment, coming from the dining-hall, awakened in his breast the slumbering canker of envy,--envy of youth, of health, of the joy of living.

They were young in yonder room; the purse of life was filled with golden metal; Folly had not yet thrown aside her cunning mask, and she was still darling to the eye.

Oh, to be young again; that light step of youth, that bold and sparkling glance, that steady hand,--if only these were once more his! Where was all the gold Time had given to him?
Upon what had he expended it, to have become thus beggared?
To find an apothecary having the elixir of eternal youth! How quickly he would gulp the draft to bring back that beauty which had so often compelled the admiration of women, a Duchesse de Montbazon, a Duchesse de Longueville, a Princesse de Savoie, among the great; a Margot Bourdaloue among the obscure! Margot Bourdaloue.

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