"I don't know."
"My dear fellow, you seem to be trusting to luck. At sixteen that might be permissible, at twenty-four it's a mistake."
"So much the worse, for I shall make the mistake. If I have to live on little—well, you've tried that before now; I shall only be following you."
"That's true; I have known want, and even now it attacks me sometimes; it's like influenza, which does not leave its victims all at once; but it is hard, I can tell you, to do without the necessaries of life; as for its luxuries—"
"Oh, of course, no one can do without its luxuries."
"You are incorrigible," he answered, with a laugh. Then he said no more. Lampron's silence is the only argument which struggles in my heart in favor of the Mouillard practice. Who can guess from what quarter the wind will blow?
CHAPTER XI
IN THE BEATEN PATH
June 5th.
The die is cast; I will not be a lawyer.