"Pass Deloche the water bottle," said Mignot, quietly; "he's thirsty."
The laughter increased. The young men took their clean plates from the piles standing on the table, at equal distances, whilst the waiters handed round the dessert, which consisted of peaches, in baskets. And they all held their sides when Mignot added, with a grin:
"Each man to his taste. Deloche takes wine with his peaches."
The latter sat motionless, with his head hanging down, as if deaf to the joking going on around him: he was full of a despairing regret for what he had just done. These fellows were right—what right had he to defend her? They would now think all sorts of villainous things: he could have killed himself for having thus compromised her, in attempting to prove her innocence. This was always his luc
