She had already staggered to her feet and was arranging her hair before a looking-glass.

"I used to live at Montmartre," she said, "and it'll amuse me to go back there.

And, besides, I want to know if this Legras is a Legras that I knew, oh! ever so long ago! Come, up you get, and let us be off!" "But, my dear girl," pleaded Duvillard, "we can't take you into that den dressed as you are! Just fancy your entering that place in a low-necked gown and covered with diamonds! Why everyone would jeer at us! Come, Gerard, just tell her to be a little reasonable." Gerard, equally offended by the idea of such a freak, was quite willing to intervene.

But she closed his mouth with her gloved hand and repeated with the gay obstinacy of intoxication: "Pooh, it will be all the more amusing if they do jeer at us! Come, let us be off, let us be off, quick!" Thereupon Duthil, who had been listening with a smile and the air of a man of pleasure whom nothing astonishes or displeases, gallantly took her part.

"But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors," said he.