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Rh yore first advice. Tell me again what to do, all the same."

"Do you own more than you owe?"

"Oh! yes!"

"Then sell, pay, buy a kid, and return to Neuilly."

"That would be a pity. This is all so pretty."

"Be reasonable, or don't ask advice."

"You are right. I promise—" she paused.

"I owe you a breakfast. When shall it be?"

"Any day you name, but it must be at Neuilly."

"I will be there before another month, on my honor."

"Honor?"

"Yes, an honest girl's honor. May I be hung if I'm not one at the bottom of my heart."

She stayed nevertheless in her fine apartment.

Two years rolled on. She was celebrated for her beauty, her wit, her lavish expenditures, her extravagances of every kind in the eccentric world where she figured.

She came to my apartment one morning, and began abruptly: "Don't tell me all that you think of me. I know it as well as you do, and I have come to ask a favor of you."

"What is it?"

"Have you five hundred francs?"

"Yes."

"Do you like Vidal's work?"

"Yes."

"Give me then five hundred francs, I will send you one of Vidal's pictures. A dealer has offered me that sum for it. I would rather you should own it."

"Take the five hundred francs and keep your picture."

"Now that is unkind," she said. "If I had nothing to give for your money, I would say, make me a present of five hundred francs. When all I have is gone, I will probably ask you for your money, until then