Unhappily，Josephdidnotknowthewaytoanyofthelottery-offices，whichinthosedayswereaswellknowntomostpeopleasthecigarshopstoasmokerinours。Thepainterranalong，readingthestreetnamesuponthelamps。Whenheaskedthepassers-bytoshowhimalottery-office，hewastoldtheywereallclosed，excepttheoneundertheporticoofthePalais-Royalwhichwassometimeskeptopenalittlelater。HeflewtothePalais-Royal:theofficewasshut。

　　“Twominutesearlier，andyoumighthavepaidyourstake，“saidoneofthevendorsoftickets，whosebeatwasundertheportico，wherehevociferatedthissingularcry:“Twelvehundredfrancsforfortysous，“

　　andofferedticketsallpaidup。

　　BytheglimmerofthestreetlampandthelightsofthecafedelaRotonde，Josephexaminedtheseticketstoseeif，bychance，anyofthemboretheDescoings’snumbers。Hefoundnone，andreturnedhomegrievedathavingdonehisbestinvainfortheoldwoman，towhomherelatedhisill-luck。AgatheandherauntwenttogethertothemidnightmassatSaint-Germain-des-Pres。Josephwenttobed。Thecollationdidnottakeplace。MadameDescoingshadlostherhead；andinAgathe’sheartwaseternalmourning。

　　ThetworoselateonChristmasmorning。Teno’clockhadstruckbeforeMadameDescoingsbegantobestirherselfaboutthebreakfast，whichwasonlyreadyathalf-pasteleven。Atthathour，theoblongframescontainingthewinningnumbersarehungoverthedoorsofthelottery-

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