She had men for every minute of the night, and money overflowed even among the brushes and combs in the drawers of her dressing table.

But all this had ceased to satisfy her; she felt that there was a void somewhere or other, an empty place provocative of yawns.

Her life dragged on, devoid of occupation, and successive days only brought back the same monotonous hours.

Tomorrow had ceased to be; she lived like a bird: sure of her food and ready to perch and roost on any branch which she came to.

This certainty of food and drink left her lolling effortless for whole days, lulled her to sleep in conventual idleness and submission as though she were the prisoner of her trade.