He had but few faults, but quite a catalogue of appalling vices.

Under this Epicurean exterior lurked, it was reported, the man of talent and the celebrated physician.
He was not a hard-working man, simply because he achieved the same results without toil or labor.

He had recently taken to homoeopathy, and started a medical journal, which he named _The Globule_, which died at its fifth number.

His conversation made all society laugh, and he joined in the ridicule, thus showing the sincerity of his views, for he was never able to take the round of life seriously.

To-day, however, Mascarin, well as he knew his friend, seemed piqued at his air of levity.
"When I asked you to come here to-day," said he, "and when I begged you to conceal yourself in my bedroom--" "Where I was half frozen," broke in Hortebise.
"It was," went on Mascarin, "because I desired your advice.