CHAPTER XII.
Ruin "Il ne faut regarder dans ses amis que la seule vertu qui nous attache a eux." If the Baron Giraud was unable in the nature of human affairs to take his wealth with him, it accompanied him, at all events, to the grave, where feathers made a fine show of grief, where priests growled consolatory words, and cherub-faced boys swung themselves and censers nonchalantly along.

Some who owed their wealth to Giraud sent their empty carriages to mourn his decease; others, with a singular sense of fitness, despatched wreaths of tin flowers to be laid upon his grave.
The Vicomte had been early astir that morning; indeed, I heard him moving before daylight in the room where the coffin was.

I was glad when that same morning dawned, for my kind old patron seemed unhinged by these events, and could not keep away from the apartment where the Baron lay.
There was, of course, no keeping him from the funeral, which ceremony I also attended, and if ever earth was laid to earth it was when we consigned the great financier to his last resting-place.

Alphonse Giraud, in his absurd French way, embraced me when the last carriage drove away from the gates of Pere la Chaise.
"And now, mon ami," he said, with a sigh of relief, "let us go and lunch at the club." He meant no disrespect towards his departed sire.

It was merely that his elastic nature could not always be at a tension.