.

THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY.
On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself, was brought back in the custody of Casimir.

They found Anastasie and the boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged his toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand as he entered, and sank speechless on the nearest chair.

Madame turned direct to Casimir.
'What is wrong ?' she cried.
'Well,' replied Casimir, 'what have I told you all along?
It has come.
It is a clean shave, this time; so you may as well bear up and make the best of it.

House down, too, eh?
Bad luck, upon my soul.' 'Are we--are we--ruined ?' she gasped.
The Doctor stretched out his arms to her.