。〃
〃Really？〃
〃 'The poor Nabob；' said he； 'how does the affair of his election stand？' 〃
And that was all。 The duke had added no further word。
Jansoulet bowed his head。 What had he been hoping？ Was it not enough that at such a moment a man like Mora had given him a thought？ He returned and sat down on his bench； falling back into the stupor which had been galvanized by one moment of mad hope； and remained until； without his noticing it； the hall had become nearly deserted。 He did not remark that he was the only and last visitor left； until he heard the men…servants talking aloud in the waning light of the evening：
〃For my part； I've had enough of it。 I shall leave service。〃
〃I shall stay on with the duchess。〃
And these projects； these arrangements some hours in advance of death； condemned the noble duke still more surely than the faculty。
The Nabob understood then that it was time for him to go； but； first； he wished to inscribe his name in the visitors' book kept by the porter。 He went up to the table； and leaned over it to see distinctly。 The page was full。 A blank space was pointed out to him below a signature in a very small； spidery hand； such as is frequently written by very fat fingers； and when he had signed； it proved to be the name of Hemerlingue dominating his own； crushing it； clasping it round with insidious flourish。 Superstitious； like the true Latin he was； he was struck by this omen； and went away frightened by it。
Where should he dine？ At the club？ Place Vendome？ To hear still more talk of this death that obsessed him！ He preferred to go somewhere by chance； walking straight before him； like all those who are a prey to some fixed idea which they hope to conjure away by rapid movement。 The evening was warm； the air full of sweet scents。 He walked along the quays； and reached the trees of the Cours…la…Reine； then found himself breathing that air in which is mingled the freshness of watered roads and the odour of fine dust so characteristic of summer evenings in Paris。 At that hour all was deserted。 Here and there chandeliers were being lighted for the concerts； blazes of gaslight flared among the green trees。 A sound of glasses and plates from a restaurant gave him the idea of going in。
The strong man was hungry despite all his troubles。 He was served under a veranda with glazed walls backed by shrubs； and facing the great porch of the Palais de l'Industrie； where the duke； in the presence of a thousand people； had greeted him as a deputy。 The refined； aristocratic face rose before his memory in the darkness of the sky； while he could see it also as it lay over yonder on the funereal whiteness of the pillow； and suddenly； as he ran his eye over the bill of fare presented to him by the waiter； he noticed with stupefaction that it bore the date of the 20th of May。 So a month had not elapsed since the opening of the exhibition。 It seemed to him like ten years ago。 Gradually； however； the warmth of the meal cheered him。 In the corridor he could hear waiters talking：
〃Has anybody heard news of Mora？ It appears he is very ill。〃
〃Nonsense！ He will get over it； you will see。 Men like him get all the luck。〃
And so deeply is hope implanted in the human soul； that； despite what Jansoulet had himself seen and heard； these few words； helped by two bottles of burgundy and a few glasses of cognac； sufficed to restore his courage。 After all； people had been known to recover from illnesses quite as desperate。 Doctors often exaggerate the ill in order to get more credit afterward for curing it。 〃Suppose I called to inquire。〃 He made his way back towards the house； full of illusion； trusting to that chance which had served him so many times in his life。 And indeed the aspect of the princely abode had something about it to fortify his hope。 It presented the reassuring and tranquil appearance of ordinary evenings； from the avenue with its lights at long intervals； majestic and deserted； to the steps where stood waiting a huge carriage of old…fashioned shape。
In the antechamber； peaceful also； two enormous lamps were burning。 A footman slept in a corner； the porter was reading before the fireplace。 He looked at the new arrival over his spectacles； made no remark； and Jansoulet dared ask no question。 Piles of newspapers lying on the table in their wrappers； addressed to the duke； seemed to have been thrown there as useless。 The Nabob took up one of them； opened it； and tried to read； but quick and gliding steps； a muttered chanting； made him lift his eyes； and he saw a white…haired and bent old man； decked out in lace as though he had been an altar； who was praying aloud as he departed with a long priestly stride； his ample red cassock spreading in a train over the carpet。 It was the Archbishop of Paris； accompanied by two assistants。 The vision； with its murmur as of an icy north wind； passed quickly before Jansoulet； plunged into the great carriage and disappeared； carrying away with it his last hope。
〃Doing the right thing； /mon cher/；〃 remarked Monpavon； appearing suddenly at his side。 〃Mora is an epicurean； brought up in the ideas of how do you sayyou knowwhat is it you call it？ Eighteenth century。 Very bad for the masses； if a man in his positionpsps ps Ah； he is the master who sets us all an examplepsps irreproachable manners！〃
〃Then； it is all over？〃 said Jansoulet； overwhelmed。 〃There is no longer any hope？〃
Monpavon signed to him to listen。 A carriage rolled heavily along the avenue on the quay。 The visitors' bell rang sharply several times in succession。 The marquis counted aloud： 〃One； two； three； four。〃 At the fifth he rose：
〃No more hope now。 Here comes the other；〃 said he； alluding to the Parisian superstition that a visit from the sovereign was always fatal to dying persons。 From every side the lackeys hastened up； opened the doors wide； ranged themselves in line； while the porter； his hat cocked forward and his staff resounding on the marble floor； announced the passage of two august shadows； of whom Jansoulet only caught a confused glimpse behind the liveried domestics； but whom he saw beyond a long perspective of open doors climbing the great staircase； preceded by a footman bearing a candelabrum。 The woman ascended； erect and proud； enveloped in a black Spanish mantilla； the man supported himself by the baluster； slower in his movements and tired； the collar of his light overcoat turned up above a rather bent back； which was shaken by a convulsive sob。
〃Let us be off； Nabob。 Nothing more to be done here；〃 said the old beau； taking Jansoulet by the arm and drawing him outside。 He paused on the threshold； with raised hand； making a little gesture of farewell in the direction of the man who lay dying upstairs。 〃Good…bye old fellow！〃 The gesture and the tone were polite； irreproachable； but the voice trembled a little。
The club in the Rue Royale； which was famous for its gambling parties； rarely saw one so desperate as the gaming of that night。 It commenced at eleven o'clock and was still going on at five in the morning。 Enormous sums were scattered over the green cloth； changing hands； moved now to one side； now to the other； heaped up； distributed； regained。 Fortunes were engulfed in this monster play； at the end of which the Nabob； who had started it to forget his terrors in the hazards of chance； after singular alternations and runs of luck enough to turn the hair of a beginner white； retired with winnings amounting to five hundred thousand francs。 On the boulevard the next day they said five millions； and everybody cried out on the scandal； especially the /Messenger/； three…quarters filled by an article against certain adventurers tolerated in the clubs； and who cause the ruin of the most honourable families。
Alas！ what Jansoulet had won hardly represented enough to meet the first Schwalbach bills。
During this wild play； of which Mora was； however； the involuntary cause； and； as it were； the soul； his name was not once uttered。 Neither Cardailhac nor Jenkins put in an appearance。 Monpavon had taken to his bed； stricken more deeply than he wished it to be thought。 Nobody had any news。
〃Is he dead？〃 Jansoulet said to himself as he left the club； and he felt a desire to make a call to inquire before going home。 It was no longer hope that urged him； but that sort of morbid and nervous curiosity which after a great fire leads the smitten unfortunate people； ruined and homeless； back to the wreck of their dwellings。
Although it was still very early； and a pink mist of dawn hung in the sky； the whole mansion stood open as if for a solemn departure。 The lamps still smoked over the fire…places； dust floated about the rooms。 The Nabob advanced amid an inexplicable solitude of desertion to the first floor； where at last he heard a voice he knew； that of Cardailhac； who was dictating names； and the scratching of pens over paper。 The clever stage…manager of the festivities in honour of the Bey was organizing with the same ardour the funeral pomps of the Duc de Mora。 What activity！ His excellency had died during the evening； when morning came already ten thousand letters were being printed； and everybody in the house who could hold a pen was busy with the writing of the addresses。 Without passing through these improvised offices； Jansoulet reached the waiting…room； ordinarily so crowded； to…day with all its arm…chairs empty。 In the middle； on a table； lay the hat； cane； and gloves of M。 le Duc； always ready in case he should go out unexpectedly； so as to save him even the trouble of giving an order。 The objects that we always wear keep about them something of ourselves。 The curve of the hat suggested that of the mustache； the light…coloured gloves were ready to grasp the supple and strong Chinese cane； the total effect was one of life and energy； as if the duke were about to appear； stretch out his hand while talking； take up those things； and go out。
Oh； no。 M。 le Duc was not going out。 Jansoulet had but to approach the half…open door of the bed…chamber to see on the bed； raised three stepsalways the platform even after deatha rigid； haughty form； a motionless and aged profile； metamorphosed by the beard's growth of a night； quite gray； near the sloping pillow； kneeli