his was the name, the title, the traditions—he must keep up his position among those shopkeepers who crowded the army since the empire had given way to the republic.
Let him play. Let him lose.
Presently he would settle down. He would marry a wealthy bourgeoise, and with her money he would buy back everything he had lost in gambling.
She had already picked out a bride for him.
He had laughed light-heartedly.
"And what does she look like, the little one?"
"What difference does it make? You will not marry her for her looks. You will marry her because it is your duty to yourself and to your family."
Then with light heart he had returned to Paris, and had gambled more than ever. Enfin, he said to himself, soon I shall have to settle down and marry. Then I shall have to quit the army and Paris, and all the fun, and cultivate my paternal acres in the Puy de Dome, and wear gaiters and altogether be an animal of a farmer; therefore, vogue la galère. Let's play, and the devil take the hindmost.
