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 the familiar expression—"burning the candle at both ends."

When business was concluded, and the Regent, leaving his cabinet, entered the adjoining dressing-room to prepare for amusement, he was generally much fatigued, but in excellent spirits. A thorough Bourbon, he could work if it was necessary, but his native element was play. When he shut up his portfolio the virtual King of France felt like a boy out of school.

It was in such a mood the Abbé Malletort found him the afternoon succeeding his necromantic visit to the cavern. The valets were dismissed, the wardrobe stood open, various suits of clothes hung on chairs or lay scattered about the floor, yet it seemed the visitor was expected; for no sooner did he enter than the door was locked, and his Highness, taking him by the shoulders, accosted him with a rough, good-humoured welcome.

"True to time," said he, in a boisterous yet somewhat nervous tone. "True and punctual as a tailor, a confessor, and a creditor should be!—since for me, little Abbé, you combine these several characters in one! A tailor, for you must dress me; a confessor, for you know most of my sins already, and I have no desire to conceal from you the remainder; and a creditor, because I owe you a heavy debt of gratitude which you need not fear I shall forget to pay!"

"Tailor and confessor as much as your Highness pleases," answered the Abbé, "but creditor, no! I had rather possess the free assurance of the Regent's good-will than his name to a blank assignment on the Bank of France! It is my pride and my pleasure to be at your service, and only when the Duke shall propose a scheme to his own manifest disadvantage will the Abbé find courage to expostulate or refuse."

"I can trust you, I believe," answered the Regent, "none the less, my friend, that your interests and mine are identical. If d'Orleans were at Dourlens, and Du Maine at the Tuileries, it is just possible Malletort might find himself at Vincennes. What say you, my adventurous Abbé? Such an alerte would call every man to his post! No; where I gain an inch I pull you up a metre; but in return, if I make a false step in the entresol, you tumble down two