Why didn't Mariette carry you off ?" she said to Oscar, who stood there petrified.

"What can he do now, poor boy ?" "Whatever he pleases!" said Cardot, sharply, marching to the door as if to go away.
"One moment, papa Cardot.

You will be so good as to get your nephew out of a scrape into which I led him; for he played the money of his master and lost it, and I lend him a thousand francs to win it back, and he lost that too." "Miserable boy! you lost fifteen hundred francs at play at your age ?" "Oh, uncle, uncle!" cried poor Oscar, plunged by these words into all the horrors of his position, and falling on his knees before his uncle, with clasped hands, "It is twelve o'clock! I am lost, dishonored! Monsieur Desroches will have no pity! He gave me the money for an important affair, in which his pride was concerned.

I was to get a paper at the Palais in the case of Vandernesse versus Vandernesse! What will become of me?
Oh, save me for the sake of my father and aunt! Come with me to Monsieur Desroches, and explain it to him; make some excuse,--anything!" These sentences were jerked out through sobs and tears that might have moved the sphinx of Luxor.
"Old skinflint!" said the danseuse, who was crying, "will you let your own nephew be dishonored,--the son of the man to whom you owe your fortune ?--for his name is Oscar Husson.

Save him, or Titine will deny you forever!" "But how did he come here ?" asked Cardot.
"Don't you see that the reason he forgot to go for those papers was because he was drunk and overslept himself.