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On the first day he lost his time; but on the second day, at aboutthree o'clock, the famous equipage made its appearance; and, a fewmoments later, Mlle. Lucienne took a seat in it. Her toilet wasricher, and more showy still, than the first time. Maxence jumpedinto a cab.

"You see that carriage," he said to the coachman, "Wherever itgoes, you must follow it. I give ten francs extra pay.""All right!" replied the driver, whipping up his horses.

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And much need he had, too, of whipping them; for the carriage thatcarried off Mlle. Lucienne started at full trot down the Boulevards,to the Madeleine, then along the Rue Royale, and through the Placede la Concorde, to the Avenue des Champs-E1ysees, where the horseswere brought down to a walk. It was the end of September, and oneof those lovely autumnal days which are a last smile of the bluesky and the last caress of the sun.

There were races in the Bois de Boulogne; and the equipages werefive and six abreast on the avenue. The side-alleys were crowdedwith idlers. Maxence, from the inside of his cab, never lost sightof Mlle. Lucienne.

She was evidently creating a sensation. The men stopped to lookat her with gaping admiration: the women leaned out of theircarriages to see her better.

"Where can she be going?" Maxence wondered.

She was going to the Bois; and soon her carriage joined theinterminable line of equipages which were following the grand driveat a walk. It became easier now to follow on foot. Maxence sentoff his cab to wait for him at a particular spot, and took thepedestrians' road, that follows the edge of the lakes. He hadnot gone fifty steps, however, before he heard some one call him.

He turned around, and, within two lengths of his cane, saw M. SaintPavin and M. Costeclar. Maxence hardly knew M. Saint Pavin, whomhe had only seen two or three times in the Rue St. Gilles, andexecrated M. Costeclar. Still he advanced towards them.

Mlle. Lucienne's carriage was now caught in the file; and he wassure of joining it whenever he thought proper.

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"It is a miracle to see you here, my dear Maxence!" exclaimed M.

Costeclar, loud enough to attract the attention of several persons.

To occupy the attention of others, anyhow and at any cost, was M.

Costeclar's leading object in life.. That was evident from thestyle of his dress, the shape of his hat, the bright stripes of hisshirt, his ridiculous shirt-collar, his cuffs, his boots, his gloves,his cane, every thing, in fact.

"If you see us on foot," he added, "it is because we wanted to walka little. The doctor's prescription, my dear. My carriage isyonder, behind those trees. Do you recognize my dapple-grays?"And he extended his cane in that direction, as if he were addressinghimself, not to Maxence alone, but to all those who were passing by.

"Very well, very well! everybody knows you have a carriage,"interrupted M. Saint Pavin.

The editor of "The Financial Pilot" was the living contrast of hiscompanion. More slovenly still than M. Costeclar was careful ofhis dress, he exhibited cynically a loose cravat rolled over a shirtworn two or three days, a coat white with lint and plush, muddyboots, though it had not rained for a week, and large red hands,surprisingly filthy.

He was but the more proud ; and he wore, cocked up to one side, ahat that had not known a brush since the day it had left the hatter's.