Ah! here is one of them, and your tears have bedewed it like a fountain.

Oh! my unhappy friend! "As you have not come in, I am going out to call on my aunt.

I have taken what money there was for a cab." "Lucille." That evening, oh! Rodolphe, you had, do you not recollect, to go without your dinner, and you called on me and let off a volley of jests which fully attested your tranquillity of mind.

For you believed Lucille was at her aunt's, and if I had not told you that she was with Monsieur Cesar or with an actor of the Montparnasse Theater, you would have cut my throat! To the fire, too, with this other note, which has all the laconic affection of the first.
"I am gone out to order some boots, you must find the money for me to go and fetch them tomorrow." Ah! my friend, those boots have danced many quadrilles in which you did not figure as a partner.

To the flames with all these remembrances and to the winds with their ashes.
But in the first place, oh Rodolphe! for the love of humanity and the reputation of "The Scarf of Iris" and "The Beaver," resume the reins of good taste that you have egotistically dropped during your sufferings, or else horrible things may happen for which you will be responsible.