"I am sorry for him," said Dalrymple; "but it is a case of wilful ruin. He made up his mind to go to the devil, and went accordingly. I am only surprised that the crash came no sooner."
M. de Simoneourt twitched at the supercilious moustache.
"And you think you would not care to take the black mare with the Tilbury?" said he, negligently.
"No--I have a capital horse, already."
"Hah I--well--'tis almost a pity. The mare is a dead bargain. Shouldn't wonder if I buy her, after all."
"And yet you don't want her," said Dalrymple.
"Quite true; but one must have a favorite sin, and horseflesh is mine. I shall ruin myself by it some day--mort de ma vie! By the way, have you seen my chestnut in harness? No? Then you will be really pleased. Goes delightfully with the gray, and manages tandem to perfection. Parbleu! I was forgetting--do we meet to-night?"
"Where?"
"At Chardonnier's."
Dalrymple shook his head, and turned the key in his cash box.