But to be able to sell this suit, the last he had left,--as we have been forced to confess to the reader--Manicamp had been obliged to take to his bed.

No more fire, no more pocket-money, no more walking-money, nothing but sleep to take the place of repasts, companies and balls.

It has been said--"He who sleeps, dines;" but it has never been affirmed--He who sleeps, plays--or, He who sleeps, dances.
Manicamp, reduced to this extremity of neither playing nor dancing, for a week at least, was, consequently, very sad; he was expecting a usurer, and saw Malicorne enter.

A cry of distress escaped him.
"Eh! what!" said he, in a tone which nothing can describe, "is that you again, dear friend ?" "Humph! you are very polite!" said Malicorne.
"Ay, but look you, I was expecting money, and, instead of money, I see _you_." "And suppose I brought you some money ?" "Oh! that would be quite another thing.

You are very welcome, my dear friend!" And he held out his hand, not for the hand of Malicorne, but for the purse.