Oscar was consumed with thirst, and drank three glasses of iced punch one after the other.

The actress now led him into the bed-chamber, where the rest of the company were playing, talking frivolities with an easy air.

But by this time the sense of his wrong-doing overcame him; the figure of Desroches appeared to him like a vision.

He turned aside to a dark corner and sat down, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, and wept.

Florentine noticed the attitude of true grief, which, because it is sincere, is certain to strike the eye of one who acts.