Wilkie so unworthy of.
"The devil only knows what he'll do with it," he thought. "He'll
squander it as my father squandered the fortune that was given
him. It is only fools who meet with such luck as that."
However, his meditations did not prevent him from keeping a close
watch over the restaurant, for it was of the utmost importance
that M. Wilkie should not escape him. It was now broad daylight,
and customers were leaving the establishment; for, after passing
what is generally conceded to be a joyous night, they felt the
need of returning home to rest and sleep. Chupin watched them as
they emerged. There were some who came out with drooping heads,
mumbling incoherent phrases; while others who were equally
intoxicated, but more nervous, evinced considerable animation, and
sang snatches of songs, or jested loudly with the street-sweepers
as they passed on. The more sober, surprised by the sunlight, and
blushing at themselves, slunk hastily and quietly away. There was
one man, moreover, whom the waiters were obliged to carry to his
cab, for he could no longer stand on his feet.
At last Chupin saw the individual clad in black whom Wilkie had
addressed as Philippe, and who had endeavored to prevent him from
entering the restaurant, come out, and walk rapidly away. He was
warmly clad in a thick overcoat, but he shivered, and his pale,
wan face betrayed the man who is a martyr to the pleasures of
others--the man who is condemned to be up all night and sleep only
in the daytime--the man who can tell you how much folly and
beastliness lurk in the depths of the wine-cup, and who knows
exactly how many yawns are expressed by the verb "to amuse one's
self.
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