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than a duchess, orthography and all. Good old lady! May Heaven reward you with a life of a hundred and seven years—equal to that of good brandy!”

“I object,” said Marcel.

“That’s true,” said Rodolphe; “I forgot that you have her hand to paint, and that so long a life would make you lose money;” and lifting his hands he gravely ejaculated: “Heaven, do not grant my prayer! Ah!” he continued, “I was in jolly good luck to come here.”

“By the way,” asked Marcel, “what did you want?”

“I recollect—and now especially that I have to pass the night in making these verses, I cannot do without what I came to ask you for, namely, first, some dinner; secondly, tobacco and a candle; thirdly, your polar-bear costume.”

“To go to the masked ball?”

“No, indeed, but as you see me here, I am as much frozen up as the grand army in the retreat from Russia. Certainly my green frock-coat and Scotch-plaid trousers are very pretty, but much too summery; they would do to live under the equator; but for one who lodges near the pole, as I do, a white bear skin is more suitable; indeed I may say necessary.”

“Take the fur!” said Marcel; “it’s a good idea; warm as a dish of charcoal; you will be like a roll in an oven in it.”

Rodolphe was already inside the animal’s skin.

“Now,” said he, “the thermometer is going to be sold a trifle.”

“Are you going out so?” said Marcel to his friend, after they had finished an ambiguous repast served in a penny dish.

“I just am,” replied Rodolphe; “do you think I care for public opinion? Besides, to-day is the beginning of carnival.”