；　&c。　In　short；　I　began　the　process　of　ruining　myself　in　the　received　style；　like　any　other　spoony。　I　had　not；　it　seems；　the　originality　to　chalk　out　a　new　road　to　shame　and　destruction；　but　trode　the　old　track　with　stupid　exactness　not　to　deviate　an　inch　from　the　beaten　centre。　I　had—as　I　deserved　to　have—the　fate　of　all　other　spoonies。　Happening　to　call　one　evening　when　Céline　did　not　expect　me；　I　found　her　out；　but　it　was　a　warm　night；　and　I　was　tired　with　strolling　through　Paris；　so　I　sat　down　in　her　boudoir；　happy　to　breathe　the　air　consecrated　so　lately　by　her　presence。　No；—I　exaggerate；　I　never　thought　there　was　any　consecrating　virtue　about　her：　it　was　rather　a　sort　of　pastille　perfume　she　had　left；　a　scent　of　musk　and　amber；　than　an　odour　of　sanctity。　I　was　just　beginning　to　stifle　with　the　fumes　of　conservatory　flowers　and　sprinkled　essences；　when　I　bethought　myself　to　open　the　window　and　step　out　on　to　the　balcony。　It　was　moonlight　and　gaslight　besides；　and　very　still　and　serene。　The　balcony　was　furnished　with　a　chair　or　two；　I　sat　down；　and　took　out　a　cigar；—I　will　take　one　now；　if　you　will　excuse　me。”

Here　ensued　a　pause；　filled　up　by　the　producing　and　lighting　of　a　cigar；　having　placed　it　to　his　lips　and　breathed　a　trail　of　Havannah　incense　on　the　freezing　and　sunless　air；　he　went　on—

“I　liked　bonbons　too　in　those　days；　Miss　Eyre；　and　I　was　croquant—　（overlook　the　barbarism）—croquant　chocolate　fits；　and　smoking　alternately；　watching　meantime　th