； &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 the equipages that rolled along the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera…house； when in an elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses； and distinctly seen in the brilliant city…night； I recognised the ‘voiture’ I had given Céline。 She was returning： of course my h