The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 5

by Eugène Sue

CHAPTER XI.

GRINGALET AND CUT-IN-HALF.

Pique-Vinaigre began his recital thus, in the midst of the profound silence of his auditory:

"It is no inconsiderable time ago that the story occurred which I am about to relate to this honourable company. What was called La Petite Pologne was not then destroyed. The honourable society knows (or does not know) what was called La Petite Pologne?"

"Well enough!" said the prisoner in the blue cap; "they were some small houses near the Rue du Rocher and the Rue de la Pépinière?"

"Exactly so, my dear sir," replied Pique-Vinaigre; "and the Quartier of the Cité, which, at the same time, does not consist of palaces, would be in comparison to La Petite Pologne the Rue de la Paix or the Rue de Rivoli. What a rookery! but, at the same time, very convenient for gents in our line. There were no streets but narrow alleys, no houses but ruins, no pavement but a small carpet of mud and dungheaps, which would have destroyed all the noise of wheels,—that is, supposing any carriages passed by that way; but none did! From morn till night, and, particularly, from night till morn, there were only heard cries of 'Watch! Watch! Help! Murder!' but the watch took no notice. The more persons were knocked on the head in La Petite Pologne, the fewer persons there were to apprehend. You should have seen the respectable inhabitants who lived there! There were very few jewellers, goldsmiths, and bankers; but then, on the other hand, there were quantities of organ-grinders, puppet-showmen, punches, and showers of remarkable animals. Amongst the latter was one well known as Cut-in-Half,—he was so cruel, and especially to children. He acquired this name because it was reported that he had cut a small Savoyard in two with a blow of his hatchet."

At this moment the prison clock struck a quarter past three o'clock. The prisoners being made to return to their cells at four o'clock, the Skeleton's murderous design must be carried into execution before that hour.

"Mille tonnerres! The turnkey won't go!" he said, in a low tone, to Gros-Boiteux.

"Be easy! He'll go when once the story is begun."

Pique-Vinaigre continued: "No one knew where Cut-in-Half came from. Some said he was an Italian, others a Bohemian, others a Turk, others an African; the gossips called him a magician, although a magician in our times would be something to look at. What made them believe this was, that he always had with him a large red monkey called Gargousse, and who was so cunning and savage that he seemed as if possessed by the devil. I shall mention this beauty again presently; as to Cut-in-Half, I shall soon describe him. His complexion was like the old tops of a pair of jockey-boots, his hair as red as the hair of his monkey, his eyes green, and (what made the women think he was a conjuror) he had a black tongue."

"A black tongue!" exclaimed Barbillon.

"Black as ink!" replied Pique-Vinaigre.

"And how did that happen?"

"Because, no doubt, when his mother was in the family way she had, perhaps, talked of a negro," said Pique-Vinaigre, with modest assurance. "To these attractions Cut-in-Half joined the profession of having a multitude of tortoises, monkeys, guinea-pigs, white mice, foxes, and marmosettes, corresponding to an equivalent total of Savoyards and forsaken children. Every morning he distributed his animal to each, and a morsel of black bread, and then despatched them to beg for 'Only one ha'penny!' or dance the Catarina. Those who only brought in at night fifteen sous were beaten, soundly beaten, so that their shrieks might be heard from one end of La Petite Pologne to the other. I should also say that there was in La Petite Pologne a man called Le Doyen (the Dean), because he was the 'oldest inhabitant,' and, as it were, mayor, provost, magistrate, for it was in his room (he kept a Tom and Jerry shop) that all went when they could not otherwise decide their quarrels. Although rather aged, yet Le Doyen was as strong as Hercules, and very generally feared. They swore by him in La Petite Pologne; and when he said 'Very good!' all the world said 'Very good!' When he said 'That's bad!' all the world said 'That's bad!' He was a good fellow at bottom, but very fierce, particularly when the strong misused the weak,—then look out for squalls! As he was Cut-in-Half's nearest neighbour, he had heard the children cry very frequently from the blows which the shower of beasts gave them. He had said to him, 'If I hear the children cry, I will make you cry in your turn; and, as you have the stronger voice, I will give you the severer beating.'"

"Well done, Le Doyen! I like Le Doyen!" said the prisoner in the blue nightcap.

"So do I!" added the turnkey, as he approached the group.

The Skeleton could not repress a movement of angry impatience.

Pique-Vinaigre proceeded:

"Thanks to Le Doyen, who had threatened Cut-in-Half, the cries of the children were heard no more in the night-time in La Petite Pologne; but the poor, unhappy little fellows did not suffer the less, for if they cried no longer when their master beat them, it was because they were afraid of being more cruelly beaten. As to complaining to Le Doyen, they had no idea of that. For the fifteen sous which each little fellow was obliged to bring in, Cut-in-Half lodged, boarded, and clothed them. In the evening a bit of black bread, as at breakfast,—this was their food. He never gave them clothes,—that was the way he clothed them; and he shut them up at night with their animals, on the same straw in a garret, to which they mounted by a ladder and a trap,—this was the lodging. When once all had ascended, and the tale of children and animals was complete, he took away the ladder and locked the trap.

"You may judge of the life and row which these monkeys, guinea-pigs, foxes, mice, tortoises, marmosettes, and children made all in the dark in this cock-loft, which was as big as a barn. Cut-in-Half slept in a room underneath, with his great ape, Gargousse, fastened to the foot of his bed. When the brute growled, because there was too much noise in the loft, the beast-shower went up the ladder without any light, and, going into the loft, laid about him right and left with a heavy whip, without seeing or counting his blows. As there were always some fifteen children, and some of the poor dears brought him in twenty sous a day, Cut-in-Half having defrayed all his outlay, which was by no means excessive, had left for himself some four or five francs a day, with which he enjoyed himself, for it must be told that he was one of the greatest tipplers that ever lived, and was regularly blind drunk once a day. That was his rule; and he declared that, but for that, he should have the headache every day. We should add, that out of his gains he used to buy some sheeps' hearts for Gargousse, who ate raw flesh like a cannibal. But I see the honourable society are anxious to be introduced to Gringalet! Here he is, gents!"

"Let's have Gringalet, and I'll go and eat my soup," said the turnkey.

The Skeleton exchanged a look of savage satisfaction with the Gros-Boiteux.

"Amongst the children to whom Cut-in-Half distributed his animals," continued Pique-Vinaigre, "was a poor little devil named Gringalet. Without father or mother, brother or sister, without fire, food, or shelter, he was alone in the world,—quite alone in a world which he had not asked to enter, and which he might leave without attracting any one's attention. He was not called Gringalet for any pleasure he had in the name, for he was meagre, lean, and pallid; he did not look above seven or eight years old, but was really thirteen. If he did not seem more than half his name, it was not because of his own will, but because he only fed perhaps every other day, and then so scantily, so poorly, that it was really an exertion to make him pass for seven years old."

"Poor little brat! I think I see him!" said the prisoner in the blue cotton nightcap; "there are so many children like him on the streets of Paris dying of hunger!"

"They must begin to learn that way of living very young in order to get accustomed to it," said Pique-Vinaigre, with a bitter smile.

"Come, get on!" said the Skeleton, suddenly; "the turnkey is getting impatient—his soup is getting cold."

"Oh, never mind that!" said the surveillant. "I wish to know something more of Gringalet; it is very amusing!"

"Yes, it is really very interesting!" added Germain, who was very attentive to the story.

"Ah, thank ye for saying that, my capitalist," said Pique-Vinaigre; "that gives me more satisfaction than your ten-sous' piece."

"Tonnerre!" exclaimed the Skeleton, "will you have done with your delays?"

"Well, then," replied Pique-Vinaigre, "one day Cut-in-Half had picked up Gringalet in the streets, dying with cold and hunger; perhaps it would have been best if he had let him die. As Gringalet was weak, he was a coward; as he was a coward, he became the jest and sport of the other lads, who beat him and used him so ill that he would have become wicked if he had not been deficient in strength and courage. But no; when he had been heartily thumped, he cried, and said, 'I have not done any harm to anybody, and everybody is unkind to me,—that's very cruel; oh, if I were strong and bold!' You will, perhaps, imagine that Gringalet was about to add, 'I would return to others the ill they do to me?' By no means. He said,' Oh, if I were strong and bold, I would defend the weak against the strong, for I am weak, and the strong have made me suffer!' In the meanwhile, as he was too small a boy to prevent the strong from ill-using the weak, beginning with himself, he prevented the larger brutes from eating the smaller ones."

"What a strange idea!" said the prisoner in the blue cap.

"And, what is stranger still," said the tale-teller, "it was this idea that consoled Gringalet for being beaten; which proves that his heart was not bad at bottom."

"Pardieu! Quite the contrary," said the guardian. "What an amusing devil that Pique-Vinaigre is!"

At this instant the chimes went half past three o'clock. The Skeleton and Gros-Boiteux exchanged significant glances. The time was drawing on, and the surveillant did not go; and some of the less hardened prisoners seemed almost to forget the sinister projects of the Skeleton against Germain, as they listened attentively to Pique-Vinaigre's recital.

"When I say," he continued, "that Gringalet prevented the larger brutes from eating the smaller, you must understand that Gringalet did not mix himself up with tigers, and lions, and wolves, or even foxes and monkeys, in the menagerie of Cut-in-Half,—he was too much of a coward for that; but if he saw, for instance, a spider hidden in his web, in wait for a poor foolish fly flying gaily in the sunshine of the good God, without hurting any one, why, in a moment, Gringalet smashed the web, freed the fly, and did for the spider like a regular Cæsar,—a real Cæsar; for he turned as white as a sheet in touching such nasty reptiles; and then it required resolution in him, who was afraid of a cockchafer, and had been a long while in forming an intimacy with the tortoise which Cut-in-Half handed to him every morning. Thus Gringalet, overcoming the fear which the spider caused him, in order to prevent flies from being eaten, proved himself—"

"As plucky in his way as a man who attacks a wolf to take a lamb from his jaws," said the prisoner in the blue cap.

"Or a man who would have attacked Cut-in-Half to take Gringalet from his clutches," added Barbillon, who was deeply interested.

"As you say," continued Pique-Vinaigre; "so that after one of these onslaughts Gringalet did not feel himself so unhappy. He who never laughed, smiled, looked about him, cocked his cap on one side (when he had one), and hummed the 'Marseillaise' with the air of a conqueror. At this moment, there was not a spider that dared to look him in the face. Another time it was a grasshopper which was swimming and struggling in a brook; in a moment, Gringalet put his two fingers boldly in the water and rescued the grasshopper, which he put on the grass. A first-class swimmer, who had fished up his tenth drowning man at fifty francs a head, could not have been prouder than Gringalet when he saw his grasshopper bend his legs and jump away. And yet the grasshopper gave him neither money nor medal, nor uttered any more thanks than did the fly. But then, Pique-Vinaigre, worthy friend, the honourable company will say to me, what the devil pleasure could Gringalet, whom all the world thumped and buffeted, find in freeing grasshoppers and destroying spiders? Since people were unkind to him, why did he not take his revenge by doing all the evil in his power? For instance, in giving spiders flies to eat, leaving grasshoppers to drown, or even drowning them on purpose?"

"Yes, why not? Why did he not revenge himself in that way?" asked Nicholas.

"What good would that have been?" inquired another.

"Why, to do ill, as ill was done to him."

"No! Well, then, I understand he liked to save the flies, poor little chap!" said the man in a blue cap. "He said, perhaps, 'Who knows if some day they mayn't save me in the same way?'"

"My right worthy friend is right," cried Pique-Vinaigre, "and has read in his heart what I was about to narrate to the honourable assembly. Gringalet was not wicked; he did not see beyond the end of his nose; but he said,'Cut-in-Half is my spider, and perhaps some day some one will do for me what I do for the other poor little flies,—break his web and take me from his clutches;' for till then nothing could have induced him to run away from his master; he would as soon have thought of killing himself. However, one day, when neither he nor his tortoise had had a chance, and had not gained between either of them more than three sous, Cut-in-Half beat the poor child very severely, so severely that, ma foi! Gringalet could not stand it any longer; and, tired of being the butt and martyr of everybody, he watched a moment when the trap was open, and, whilst Cut-in-Half was feeding his animals, he slid down the ladder."

"Oh, so much the better," said a prisoner.

"But why didn't he go and complain to the Doyen?" inquired the blue cap; "he would have served Cut-in-Half out."

"Yes, but he dared not; he was too much afraid, and preferred trying to escape. Unfortunately, Cut-in-Half had seen him, and, seizing him by the wrist, lugged him up again into the loft. Poor Gringalet, thinking of what must befall him, shuddered all over, although he was by no means at the end of his troubles. Apropos of Gringalet's troubles, I must now mention to you Gargousse, the large and favourite ape of Cut-in-Half. This mischievous brute was, ma foi! taller than Gringalet; only imagine what a size for a monkey! I must tell you why he was never taken into the streets to be shown, like the other animals of the menagerie: it was because Gargousse was so wicked and powerful that there was not one amongst all the show-boys, except an Auvergnat of fourteen, a determined chap, who, after many skirmishes and contests with Gargousse, had mastered him, and could lead him about with a chain; and even with him Gargousse frequently got up some fights, which ended in bloodshed produced by Gargousse's bites. Enraged at this, the little Auvergnat said, one fine day, 'Very well, I will revenge myself on this infernal monkey;' and so, one morning, having gone out with the brute as usual, he, in order to appease its savageness, bought a sheep's heart. Whilst Gargousse was eating it, he put a rope through the end of his chain, tied it to a tree, and, when he had got the brute quite at his mercy, he gave it an outrageous walloping."

"Well done! Bravo the Auvergnat! Go it, my lad! Skin the beast alive!" said the prisoners.

"He did whack him gloriously!" continued Pique-Vinaigre. "And you should have seen how Gargousse cried, ground his teeth, leaped, danced, and skipped hither and thither; but the Auvergnat used his stick famously! Unfortunately, monkeys, like cats, are very tenacious of life. Gargousse was as crafty as he was vicious; and when he saw, as they say, how the wood was on fire, at a heavy blow he made a final bound, and fell flat at the foot of a tree, shook for a moment, and then shammed dead, lying as motionless as a log. The Auvergnat believed he had done for him, and, thinking the ape dead, he cut away, resolved never again to return to Cut-in-Half. But the beast Gargousse watched him out of the corner of his eye, and, bruised and wounded as he was, as soon as he saw himself alone he rent the cord asunder with his teeth. The Boulevard Monceaux, where he had had this hiding, was close to La Petite Pologne, and the monkey knew his way as easy as his paternoster; and, making off in that direction, arrived at his master's, who roared and foamed when he saw how his monkey had been served. This is not all. From this moment Gargousse entertained such a furious revenge against all children that Cut-in-Half, who was not the tenderest soul alive, dared not trust him to any one for fear of an accident; for Gargousse was capable of strangling or devouring a child, and all the little brute-showers, knowing that, would rather be thrashed by Cut-in-Half than go near the monkey."

"I must really go and eat my soup," said the turnkey, turning towards the door; "this devil of a Pique-Vinaigre would wheedle a bird down from a tree to hear him! I can't tell where the deuce he fishes up all he tells!"

"Now, then, the turnkey will go," said the Skeleton, in a whisper to the Gros-Boiteux. "I'm in such a rage I shake all over! Mind and form a wall all around the informer,—I will take care of the rest!"

"Mind, now, and be good boys!" said the turnkey, turning towards the door.

"As good as images!" replied the Skeleton, coming closer to Germain, whilst the Gros-Boiteux and Nicholas, after having agreed on a signal, made two steps in the same direction.

"Ah, worthy turnkey, you are going at the most interesting moment!" said Pique-Vinaigre, with an air of reproach.

Had it not been for the Gros-Boiteux, who anticipated his intention, and seized him suddenly by the arm, the Skeleton would have rushed on Pique-Vinaigre.

"What! The most interesting moment?" replied the turnkey, turning towards the story-teller.

"Decidedly," said Pique-Vinaigre; "you do not know all you will lose,—the most delightful portion of the history is now about to commence."

"Don't attend to him," exclaimed the Skeleton, who with difficulty repressed his rage; "he is not in good trim to-day; for my part I think his story very stupid."

"My story very stupid?" cried Pique-Vinaigre, wounded in his pride as a tale-teller. "Well, turnkey, I beg of you,—I entreat you to remain till the conclusion, which, at most, will not be longer than a quarter of an hour, and as by this time your soup must be cold, why, you haven't much to lose by a little delay. I will go ahead with my narrative, so that you may still have time to eat your soup before we are locked up for the night."

"Well, then, I'll stay, but make haste," said the turnkey, coming closer towards him.

"You are wise to stay, turnkey," continued Pique-Vinaigre; "without bragging, you never heard anything like it before, especially the finale, which is the triumph of the ape, and Gringalet escorted in procession by all the little beast-showers and inhabitants of La Petite Pologne. On my word and honour, it is not for the sake of boasting, but it is really superb."

"Then tell it speedily, my boy," said the turnkey, returning towards the stove.

The Skeleton shook with rage. He almost despaired of accomplishing his crime. If bedtime arrived, Germain must escape, for he was not in the same dormitory with his implacable enemy, and on the following day Germain was to be in a separate cell.

"So it's very stupid!" continued Pique-Vinaigre. "Well, the honourable company shall be the judge of that. There could not exist a more vicious brute than the big ape Gargousse, who was even more savage with children than his master. What does Cut-in-Half do to punish Gringalet for trying to run away? You shall know by and by. Well, in the meantime, he seizes on the unhappy child, and locks him into the cock-loft for the night, saying, 'To-morrow morning, when all your companions are gone out, I will let you see what I do with vagabonds who try to run away from me.' You may imagine what a wretched night Gringalet passed. He did not close an eye, but kept asking himself what Cut-in-Half meant to do with him, and then he fell asleep. He had a dream,—such a horrid dream,—that is, the beginning of it was, as you shall see. He dreamed that he was one of the very poor flies that he had so often rescued from the spiders' webs, and that he had fallen into a large and strong web, where he was struggling,—struggling with all his might, without being able to escape. He then saw coming towards him, stealthily and treacherously, a kind of monster, which looked like Cut-in-Half turned into a spider. Poor Gringalet began to struggle again, as you may suppose, but the more he struggled the more he got entangled, like the poor flies. At last the spider came up to him, touched him, and he felt the cold and hairy paws of the horrid beast curl around him and enclose him, intending to devour him. He believed he was dead, when suddenly he heard a kind of clear, ringing, sharp sort of buzzing, and he saw a beautiful golden fly, with a kind of brilliant dart, like a diamond needle, which flew around the spider with a furious air, and a voice (when I say a voice you must imagine a fly's voice) which said, 'Poor little fly! You have saved flies! The spider shall not—' Unfortunately Gringalet jumped up at this moment, and did not see the end of his dream; but yet he was at first somewhat assured, and said to himself, 'Perhaps the golden fly with the diamond dart would have killed the spider if I had finished the dream.' But in vain did Gringalet endeavour to make himself easy and take comfort; in proportion as the night ended, his fears renewed, so strongly, that at last he forgot his dream, or, rather, he only remembered the portion which affrighted him, the large web in which he had been caught and enfolded by the spider which resembled Cut-in-Half. You may imagine what a fright he was in; only think—only think—alone,—quite alone, and no one to defend him! In the morning, when he saw daybreak gradually appear through the skylight of the cock-loft, his fears redoubled, and the moment was at hand when he would be alone with Cut-in-Half. He then threw himself on his knees in the middle of the garret, and, weeping bitterly, entreated his comrades to ask Cut-in-Half to forgive him, or else to help him to escape if possible. But some from fear of their master, others from disregard, and some from ill nature, refused what poor Gringalet requested so earnestly."

"Young scamps!" said the prisoner in the blue cap; "he is to be pitied, so helpless. If he could have defended himself, tooth and nail, it would have been very different, ma foi! If you have fangs, show 'em, boy, and defend your tail!"

"To be sure!" said several prisoners.

"Holloa, there!" exclaimed the Skeleton, unable to conceal his rage, and addressing the Blue Cap; "won't you hold your jaw? Didn't I say silence in the stone-jug? Am I captain of the ward or not?"

The Blue Cap's answer was to look the Skeleton full in the face, and then make that low-lived gesture of the blackguards, which consists in applying the thumb of the right hand to the end of the nose, opening the fingers like a fan, and putting the little finger on the thumb of the left hand, similarly extended. He accompanied this mute reply with so odd a look that many of the prisoners laughed heartily, whilst others, on the contrary, were actually stupefied at the audacity of the new prisoner, so greatly was the Skeleton feared. The latter shook his fist at the new prisoner, and said to him, grinding his teeth:

"We'll settle this to-morrow!"

"I'll make the calculation on your nob! I'll put down seventeen and carry nothing!"

For fear the turnkey should have fresh motive for staying, in order to repress any row, the Skeleton quietly replied:

"That is not what I mean; I am the captain of this room, and ought to be attended to,—ought not I, turnkey?"

"Certainly," replied the superintendent; "no interruption; and go on, Pique-Vinaigre, and make haste, will you, my lad?"

"Then," resumed Pique-Vinaigre, "Gringalet, seeing how all the world forsook him, resigned himself to his miserable fate. It was broad day, and all the boys were going out with their animals. Cut-in-Half opened the trap, and called each to give him his morsel of bread. They all descended the ladder, and Gringalet, more dead than alive, squeezed up in a corner of the cock-loft with his tortoise, did not move, but watched his companions as they descended one after the other, and would have given everything he had to have done as they did. At length the last quitted the loft, and then his heart beat quick as he thought his master might forget him. But Cut-in-Half, who was standing at the foot of the ladder, exclaimed in a loud voice, 'Gringalet! Gringalet!' 'Here I am, master.' 'Come down directly, or I'll fetch you!' added Cut-in-Half; and Gringalet believed his last hour was come. 'Oh,' said he to himself as he trembled in all his limbs, and recollected his dream, 'you are in the web, little fly, the spider is going to eat you!' After having put his tortoise quietly down on the ground, he said farewell to it, for he had become fond of the creature, and went to the trap, and put his leg on the ladder to go down, when Cut-in-Half, taking hold of his miserable little leg, as thin as a stick, pulled him down so suddenly that Gringalet lost his hold, and fell with his face all down the rounds of the ladder."

"What a pity it was that the Doyen of La Petite Pologne was not there at that moment! What a dance he could have played to Cut-in-Half!" said the blue nightcap; "it is at such moments as these that a man is always happy and contented to feel how useful it is sometimes to be strong."

"That's all right, my lad, but, unfortunately, the Doyen was not there, so Cut-in-Half seized hold of the child by the waistband of his little breeches, and carried him to his own hole of a chamber, where the huge monkey was kept fastened to the foot of his bed. Directly the spiteful beast saw the boy, he began to jump and spring about, grinding his teeth like a mad thing, and darting towards Gringalet as near as his chain permitted him, as though he meant to devour him."

"Poor Gringalet! How ever will he be able to escape? If that beast of a monkey once gets hold of him he is safe to strangle him! I declare," exclaimed the man in the blue cap, "the very thoughts of a poor innocent child being in such a dangerous situation makes me shiver from head to foot, and I seem as though I couldn't hurt a worm. How do you feel, good friends?"

"The very same!" replied a burst of voices. "No more could we!"

At this moment the prison clock chimed forth the first quarter past three, and the Skeleton, becoming momentarily more and more apprehensive that the time would slip away without their being able to accomplish their design, and furious at the continued interruptions, as well as irritated at the evident sympathy and compassion awakened in the breasts of the prisoners by Pique-Vinaigre's recital, called out in angry voice:

"Silence in the stone jug, I say! We shall never get to the end of this unlucky history if you persist in chiming in."

The buzz of voices died away at these words, and Pique-Vinaigre thus continued:

"When it is recollected how much poor little Gringalet had had to endure before he could get used to his tortoise, and that even the boldest of his companions trembled and turned pale even at the mention of Gargousse's name, it may very easily be imagined what deadly terror he experienced when he found himself placed by his master within the reach of the horrible monkey. 'Oh, master, master!' he cried, as his teeth rattled and shook in his head, as though he were under the influence of an ague fit, 'pray—pray forgive me! Pray have mercy on me! I will never do so any more. Indeed, indeed, I never will! Oh, I promise you, master; only let me off this time, and I will never do so again!' But all these prayers and supplications escaped almost unconsciously from the poor child, who had indeed committed no fault that called for such promises. Cut-in-Half, however, laughed at the boy's terrors, and, spite of the struggles and resistance of the unhappy child, he dragged him within the grasp of Gargousse, who sprang upon him, and seized him with a savage grasp."

A cry of execration passed throughout the assembly, which had been listening with the profoundest attention to the progress of the tale.

"I should have been a rare fool had I gone away," said the officer on duty, as he drew nearer to the listening groups.

"Oh, but," said Pique-Vinaigre, "you've heard nothing as yet,—the best is still to come. Directly poor Gringalet felt the cold hairy paws of the ape seize him by the head and neck, he imagined it was with the intention of devouring him, and driven almost mad by his agony, he began shrieking and groaning in a manner that would have moved a stone to pity him, while he wildly exclaimed, 'Oh, send help! Send help from heaven, God of goodness and of little children! Oh, little golden fly, come and preserve me! Come, little fly, and save me from the horrible spider I dreamed about!' 'Will you hold your noise?' exclaimed Cut-in-Half, as he gave him several hard kicks, for he was fearful lest his cries should be heard; but in a minute's time there was no further danger of that, for the poor boy neither cried or struggled further, but pale and cold as marble, he remained kneeling, while the devilish monkey clawed and scratched and buffeted the trembling victim, who, closing his eyes, resigned himself to his fate. After Gargousse had tired himself with thus tormenting poor Gringalet, he suddenly paused, and looked up to his master's countenance, as though asking what he should do next. And really it seemed as though the ape and his master understood each other's thoughts, for Gargousse immediately renewed the attack by plucking out handfuls of the shuddering boy's hair, upon which Cut-in-Half burst into fits of laughter, so long and so loud that, had poor Gringalet tried ever so hard, he could not have made himself heard amid these wicked and malicious rejoicings. They had, however, the effect of encouraging Gargousse, who proceeded to attack the unfortunate child with redoubled fierceness."

"Ah, you beggar of a monkey!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet, "I only wish I had been near enough to catch hold of your tail! I'd have swung you round and round like a windmill, and finished by knocking out your dirty brains against the hardest stone I could find! That beastly ape was as cruel as if he had been a man!"

"Oh!" cried a simultaneous burst of voices, "no man ever was, or ever will be, so cruel as that, I'm sure!"

"Hallo!" interrupted Pique-Vinaigre, "you forget Cut-in-Half when you make that remark. However, just listen to what he did next. He unfastened the long chain of Gargousse from the leg of his bed, around which it was generally secured, and tied it to the waist of the poor trembling child, who by this time was more dead than alive; so that the monkey and the boy were thus placed at the opposite ends of the chain."

"There was a devil's own invention! Ay, ay, it is quite certain that some human creatures are more cruel than the most savage wild beast!"

"When Cut-in-Half had completed this arrangement, he said to the monkey, who appeared to understand every word he said,—and certainly these were such a precious pair it would have been a thousand pities they should have had any difficulty in the matter: 'Now, then, Gargousse, attention! You have been exhibited with all your clever tricks, but it is now your turn to be showman. You shall be master, and Gringalet shall be monkey,—yes, your monkey. So up with you, Gringalet, or I shall set Gargousse on you, and let him tear you to pieces!' The unhappy child, unable to utter a word, had again fallen on his knees, holding up his clasped hands in mute supplication, while the only sound he could utter proceeded from the convulsive rattling of his teeth. 'Make him stand upright, Gargousse!' said Cut-in-Half to his ape, 'and if he is obstinate do as I am doing;' and with these words he belaboured the child with a switch he held in his hand. Then passing the stick to the monkey, he added, 'Make him stand up! Hit harder!—harder!' You all know what close imitators all monkeys are, but Gargousse was ever remarkable for his extreme quickness in copying the actions of others. He was not long, therefore, in bestowing so severe a flagellation on the shoulders of his terrified victim as soon compelled him to try at least to stand upon his feet, and once up, the unhappy child became as nearly as possible the same height as the ape. Then Cut-in-Half went out of the room, and descended the staircase, calling out to Gargousse to follow him, which he did, tugging violently at the end of the chain to which Gringalet was fastened, and compelling him to follow like a slave, at the same time beating him as hard as he could with his cane; and thus they reached the small courtyard belonging to the miserable tenement occupied by Cut-in-Half and his live stock.

"Now, then, Cut-in-Half reckoned on having good sport, so, first securing the door that opened into the lane, he made signs to Gargousse to play Gringalet round and round the yard as fast as he could. The ape loved the fun as well as his master, and coursed the frightened boy round the yard, beating him with all the strength the switch admitted of, while Cut-in-Half laughed till his sides ached. Perhaps you may think this malicious nature was now satisfied,—not a bit of it! This was a mere beginning!

"So far Gringalet had merely endured excessive fright, been torn and scratched by the sharp teeth and claws of Gargousse, and severely beaten with the stick. This, however dreadful, was far from contenting Cut-in-Half's savage nature. He therefore devised another scheme, equally diabolical with his other proceedings. In order to enrage the monkey still more against the unhappy boy, who by this time was more dead than alive, he seized Gringalet by the hair of his head, and, after feigning to overwhelm him with blows, he pushed him towards the monkey, saying, 'Tear him! Worry him!' showing Gargousse at the same time a great lump of sheep's heart, as much as to say, Do as I bid you, and here is your reward.

"And then began a fearful sight! Just imagine a huge red ape, with a black muzzle, grinding his teeth like a mad thing, and throwing himself, in a state of savage fury, on the poor helpless object of his cruelty, who, unable to defend himself, had no other means of preserving his face and eyes from being torn to pieces than by throwing himself down on the ground, flat on his face. Seeing this, Gargousse, wrought up by his master to a state of frenzied hatred against poor Gringalet, bestrode him as he lay on the ground, seized him by the neck, and bit him on the back of his head till the blood came. 'Oh, the spider! The spider I dreamed of!' cried poor Gringalet, firmly believing now that he should be devoured. All at once a noise was heard at the gate that opened from the lane into the yard. Knock! knock! knock!"

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed all the prisoners at once. "How delightful! 'Tis Le Doyen come to set the boy free! Oh, tell us if it was not!"

"Yes, my good friends, you have guessed right; it was Le Doyen, and he cried out, 'Now then, Cut-in-Half, will you open the door or no? Don't pretend to be deaf; I see you through the keyhole.' The exhibitor of beasts was obliged to answer, and went grumblingly along to open the gate for Le Doyen, who was a regular brick of a man, as strong and sturdy as a mountain for all his age, and, moreover, he was one of those persons with whose displeasure it was anything but safe to trifle. 'Well, what do you want with me?' asked Cut-in-Half, half opening the yard door. 'I have something to say to you,' answered Le Doyen, entering almost forcibly into the little courtyard. Then observing the savage conduct of the monkey, he ran towards him, seized him by the scruff of the neck, and sought to fling him to the other end of the yard; but perceiving that the boy and the animal were chained together, Le Doyen cast a stern and fearful glance on Cut-in-Half, as he called out in a severe tone, 'Let this unfortunate child loose directly!' Only conceive the joyful surprise experienced by Gringalet, who, nearly dead with terror, found himself so unexpectedly preserved, and by means which seemed to him so miraculous that he could not help turning his eyes on his preserver, with a recollection of the golden-winged fly he had seen in his dream, though he saw merely a stout, square-built, elderly gentleman, looking more like a creature of earth than air."

"Well, now then," said the officer on duty, "now that Gringalet is safe, I will go and take my soup."

"Safe!" exclaimed Pique-Vinaigre, "not a bit of it! Bless you, poor little Gringalet has not got to the worst of his troubles yet."

"No?" cried several prisoners, with the deepest interest. "No; hasn't he, though?"

"But what else happened to him then?" inquired the officer.

"Wait a bit and you'll hear," answered the story-teller.

"What a fellow that Pique-Vinaigre is!" cried the officer; "he makes you do just as he pleases! Well, I'll stay a little longer, at any rate!"

The Skeleton spoke not, but he actually foamed with rage, as Pique-Vinaigre thus continued his recital:

"Cut-in-Half, who feared Le Doyen as the devil fears holy water, had, in a grumbling manner, unfastened the chain from Gringalet's waist, which done, Le Doyen tossed Gargousse up in the air, and when he fell to the ground he gave him so desperate a kick in his ribs that he sent him rolling ten feet off. The monkey screamed with passion, chattered, and ground his teeth with rage; then, fearing a repetition of the rough usage he had experienced, scampered away, and, climbing to the roof of a small shed, manifested his hatred of Le Doyen by a variety of threatening gestures. 'What do you mean by ill-using my monkey?' inquired Cut-in-Half of Le Doyen. 'You ought rather to ask me why I do not beat you instead of your spiteful beast there; for shame! Thus to torture and ill-use a poor helpless boy! Is it possible you can be drunk at this early hour of the morning?' 'I am no more drunk than you are! I was teaching my monkey a trick I wish him to learn. I want to get up a scene between Gringalet and my monkey. I attend to my business, and I only wish other people would do the same, and not trouble themselves with what does not concern them.' 'And I tell you that I have a right to interfere in the present case, and that it is my duty so to do. This morning when I missed Gringalet from among the other children who passed by my window, I inquired of them where he was. They did not make me any answer, but hung down their heads, and seemed confused. I know you, therefore suspected the boy was kept back for some bad purpose, and it seems I was not mistaken.

"'Now, just listen to me. Every day that I do not see Gringalet pass my door with the other lads, I will come here to know the reason, whether you like it or not; and what's more, you shall produce him alive and well, or—or—or—I'll—I'll knock you down!' 'I shall do precisely as I please with the boy, without asking your leave,' answered Cut-in-Half, excessively irritated by this threat of keeping him under surveillance; 'you'll just please to keep your hands to yourself; and if you do not take yourself off, and if ever you presume to show your face here again, I'll—I'll—' 'Take that, then, as an earnest of the future!' cried Le Doyen, interrupting Cut-in-Half by a couple of blows heavy enough to knock down a rhinoceros; 'you deserve that and more, too, for presuming to answer Le Doyen of La Petite Pologne in so impertinent a manner.'"

"O Lord! Lord!" groaned forth the man in the blue cap, "only two blows! I wish I had had the handling of him. He should have had a round dozen to begin with, and afterwards I would have knocked all his teeth down his throat!"

"As far as strength went," continued Pique-Vinaigre, "Le Doyen could have killed and eaten a score of such fellows as the beast-master, so Cut-in-Half was compelled to pocket the affront. But he was not the less incensed at being struck in the presence of Gringalet, and well did he promise himself to be richly avenged for the indignity he had sustained; and an idea suddenly suggested itself to him, which could only have originated in the mind of a fiend of malice like himself. While he was meditating on his diabolical scheme, Le Doyen said, 'Bear in mind that if you torment this poor boy any more I will just make you and your menagerie turn out and quit La Petite Pologne, or I will bring the whole neighbourhood to pull your house about your ears. You know very well how universally you are hated already, and you may rest assured you will have such an escort to conduct you hence as shall leave you marks enough on your back to serve as a remembrancer of your parting, let you live as long as you may, that I promise you!'

"Like a treacherous, mean-spirited wretch as he was, Cut-in-Half, the better to effect his villainous design, instead of quarrelling further with Le Doyen, feigned to submit to his decision, and replied, in a false, wheedling tone, 'You were wrong to strike me, my worthy neighbour, or to imagine I had any intention of harming Gringalet; on the contrary, I tell you again I was merely teaching my monkey a new trick; he is rather awkward when he is put out in any way, and, while trying to manage him, the boy got a few trifling bites, which I very much regret.' 'Humph!' said Le Doyen, casting a scrutinising look on him; 'now is this all gospel you are telling me? And why, if you only wished to teach a thing to your monkey, did you fasten him to Gringalet?' 'Because the boy has to learn the trick as well as the animal. Now this is what I want to do,—to dress up Gargousse in a red coat and a hat with a feather in it, like a barber, and then Gringalet is to sit in a little chair, with a cloth tucked under his chin, while the monkey affects to shave him with a large wooden razor.' The joke appeared so very droll to Le Doyen that he could not forbear laughing. 'Isn't that a funny idea?' inquired Cut-in-Half, in a crafty and malicious manner. 'Why, upon my word,' answered Le Doyen, 'it does strike me as a very amusing device, and one which, I doubt not, your monkey would carry into execution most admirably, that is, if he be as clever and skilful in imitation as he is represented.' 'Oh, bless you!' continued Cut-in-Half, 'when he has seen me for five or six times make believe to shave Gringalet, he will imitate me exactly with his large wooden razor; but for that purpose it is absolutely necessary he should become habituated to the boy, and that was my reason for fastening them both together.' 'But why did you select Gringalet more than any other of your boys?' 'Because he was the least among 'em, so that, you see, when he sat down the monkey was the taller of the two.

"'To be sure I had another reason besides, M. le Doyen, although I know a man oughtn't to own such a thing as making a difference with his boys, but, for all that, I'll own the truth, whatever comes of it, and that is, that I made choice of this here little chap because I meant to give half the profits from the performance to whoever it was acted the scene with the animal, because I knew, in course, it was disagreeable.' 'Well,' said Le Doyen, completely gulled by this false and hypocritical manner of accounting for the conduct which had first attracted his displeasure,—'well, if such be the case, I can only say, I'm very sorry I gave you such a very hard thump; however, it does not matter, just consider it as "paid on account," so that—' While Cut-in-Half was talking with Le Doyen, poor little Gringalet durst scarcely breathe,—he trembled like an aspen leaf, and, though dying with eagerness to throw himself at the feet of Le Doyen, and to supplicate of him to take him away from his cruel master, he had not courage to make the attempt, and in a low despairing voice he murmured to himself, 'I shall be like the poor fly I dreamed about, and the horrid spider will eat me up; it was folly of me to expect that any golden fly would come to save me!'

"'Come, my lad, since your master means to let you share his profits, you ought to try and get used to acting with the monkey; never mind being tied to him, he won't hurt you, I dare say, and then, you know, when you have earned a large sum of money by doing this trick with him, you will have nothing to complain of.' 'Complain, indeed!' exclaimed his master, giving him at the same time a side-look that froze poor Gringalet's blood, 'what should he know of complaining? Now then, speak up, and tell this worthy gentleman whether you ever have had anything to complain of.' 'Come, let's hear all about it,—have you any cause of complaint, you are asked?' 'No—no—master,' stammered out the unhappy child. 'You hear what he says?' said Cut-in-Half, turning to Le Doyen, 'he never has had anything to complain of. No; I should rather think not! Why, bless you, I was only thinking of his good when I tied him to the monkey, and if he has got a bit of a scratch from Gargousse, why, I'll take care it does not happen again. The monkey is just a little awkward at first, but I'll see to it for the future,—take my word for it, it won't happen again.' 'That's all right, then, and now everybody's satisfied, are they not?' 'Gringalet is, most especially; are you not, my fine fellow?' asked Cut-in-Half, casting a savage glance on the poor child. 'Yes—yes—master,' sobbed forth the wretched boy. 'And I'll tell you what I'll do further, to make up for the scratches you have got from the monkey, I'll let you share in a good breakfast I meant to order from our worthy Doyen's excellent larder; I intend having a dish of mutton-chops and pickles, four bottles of wine, and a pint of brandy.' 'Much obliged to you,' answered Le Doyen; 'all shall be sent as you desire. Few men have a better cellar or more tempting larder, and the contents of both are at the service of all who can pay for them.'

"Le Doyen was not a bad sort of a man, but it must be remembered that he had his living to get, and, therefore, so that he disposed of his eatables and drinkables at a sufficient profit, he cared but little who it was in that case,—friend or foe were quite alike to him. The beggar, Cut-in-Half, knew well enough where his weak side lay, so he hit upon this method of getting rid of him, in high good humour at having by his visit not only ascertained the safety of Gringalet, but also obtained a good order. And now was the unfortunate child thrown into the hands of his master, past all hopes of safety; for no sooner had Le Doyen turned his back than Cut-in-Half, pointing to the staircase with a dreadful frown, bade the trembling lad betake himself to his garret without loss of time; and the frightened child, glad at any rate to be freed from the monkey and his master, did not require a second bidding, but made off as fast as his strength permitted him. When Gringalet reached his own wretched chamber, he threw himself on the dirty straw allotted him for a bed beside his tortoise, and wept as though his heart were breaking. 'He will surely kill me!' cried the miserable boy, as he reflected on the cruelty of his master and his own inability to escape from him. 'What shall I do? Oh, how I wish I were dead and in my grave!' Thus he remained sobbing and lamenting for more than an hour, when he was roused by hearing the coarse voice of Cut-in-Half calling upon him to descend. And the terror of the boy was still further increased by discovering a considerable alteration in the rough tones of his master. 'Now, then!' roared out the brutal man, with a torrent of oaths, 'are you coming down, or must I fetch you?' The unhappy child almost slid down the ladder in his haste to descend, but scarcely had he reached the bottom than Cut-in-Half seized hold of him, and dragged him to his own room, stumbling at every step he took; for the fellow had been drinking so hard that he could scarcely stand on his legs, while his body swung to and fro like the sails of a windmill.

"Almost bereft by extreme intoxication of the power of speech, he continued to gaze on the shrinking child with eyes full of dreadful meaning, though his tongue was unable to declare the murderous designs he meditated. Never had the poor boy endured such horror at the sight of his master. Gargousse was chained as usual to the foot of the bed, and in the middle of the room stood a chair, from the back of which hung a strong cord. 'S—s—sit down—there!' cried the tyrant, as he pointed to the seat. Gringalet obeyed in silence, and Cut-in-Half, without another word, twisted the rope around him, and finally secured him in the chair so firmly that, even if poor Gringalet had dared to struggle, it would have been impossible for him to have extricated himself. 'Great and good God!' murmured the wretched child, 'this time no one will come to deliver me from my danger!' And the poor little fellow was right, for, indeed, it was utterly impossible, and for this reason, that no sooner had Le Doyen gone away with the idea of all being comfortably arranged between the boy and his master than Cut-in-Half hastened to double-lock and bolt the entrance to his premises, so that no person could gain admission without his knowledge."

"Oh, poor little Gringalet!" exclaimed all the prisoners, deeply excited by the recital, "it's all up with him, that's quite sure."

"I'd give my last franc-piece to get him out of the hands of that blackguard—that I would!" cried a multitude of voices, as though one unanimous sympathy actuated each breast.

"I wonder what that beggar of a Cut-in-Half is going to do with the poor little chap!" added they, in almost breathless interest; "come, push on, and let's hear."

Pique-Vinaigre continued:

"When Gringalet was well secured in the chair, his master said to him" (and here the narrator imitated most naturally the thick speech and stammering tones of a drunken man): 'Ah—you scoundrel!—you—you are the—cause of—my being thrashed by Le Doyen!—you shall—die—for it—you shall—you—young—devil!' Then he took from his pocket a freshly sharpened razor, opened it, and seized Gringalet by the hair of his head. At the sight of the razor the child began to weep. 'Pardon, master! Pardon! Do not kill me!' 'Cry away, you infernal brat! You shall not cry long!' replied Cut-in-Half. 'Golden fly, golden fly, come to my help!' exclaimed poor Gringalet, almost mad, and remembering the dream that had had such an effect upon him, 'for the spider is going to kill me!' 'What!—you call—call—me a spider—do you?' said Cut-in-Half; 'for this—and—other—many other things—you shall die—die, I tell you—but not by my hand—because that wouldn't do—and besides—they'd "scrag" me—and so I'll say and prove that it was the ape. I have managed it all—and so—never mind—for that's all about it!' he added, preserving his equilibrium with the greatest difficulty. Then calling the monkey, which, at the end of his chain, was grinning and looking at his master and the boy, 'Here, Gargousse,' he said, pointing to the razor, and then to Gringalet, whom he had seized by the hair of his head, 'do so to him;' and then drawing the back of the razor several times over Gringalet's throat, he feigned to cut his throat. The devil of a monkey was such a close imitator—so wicked and so sly—that he understood what his master desired, and as if to prove to him that he did so, he took his chin in his left paw, put his head back, and, with his right paw, pretended to cut his throat. 'That's it, Gargousse—that's it!' said Cut-in-Half, stammering, with his eyes half closed, and staggering so much that he almost fell with Gringalet and the chair. 'Yes, that's it! I'll unfas—unfasten you, and you'll slice his weasand—won't you, Gargousse?' The ape shrieked as he ground his teeth, as much as to say yes, and put out his paw as if to take the razor that Cut-in-Half handed to him. 'Golden fly, come to my rescue!' murmured Gringalet, in a faint voice, and assured that his last hour was come. Alas! he called the golden fly without any hopes of its coming to his rescue; he did so as a drowning man exclaims, 'Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!' Yet at this very moment Gringalet saw enter into the room one of those small gold and green flies, which look like a spangle of gold flying and flitting around and about; and at the very moment when Cut-in-Half was going to give the razor to Gargousse, the gold fly went plump into the eye of this horrible ruffian. A fly in the eye is no great thing, but at the moment it hurts like the prick of a pin, and thus Cut-in-Half, who could scarcely support himself, raised his hand to his eye so suddenly that he staggered and fell at full length, rolling on the ground like a log to the foot of the bed, to which Gargousse was fastened. 'Golden fly, many thanks! You have saved me!' cried Gringalet, who, seated and fastened to the chair, had observed all."

"Ma foi! It really was true, then, and the golden fly prevented his having his throat cut," exclaimed the prisoners, overjoyed.

"The golden fly for ever!" cried the Blue Cap.

"Listen now," continued the story-teller, "for this is the most beautiful and terrible of the history I had promised you. Cut-in-Half had fallen like a lump of lead, and was so drunk that he could move no more than a log,—he was dead drunk and perfectly senseless; but in his fall he very nearly crushed Gargousse, and almost broke his hind paw. You know how savage and revengeful this infernal brute was, and he still held in his paw the razor which his master had given him to cut Gringalet's throat. What do you suppose the animal did when he saw his master on his back and within his reach? Why, he jumped upon him, squatted on his breast, and whilst with one paw he pushed up his chin to expose his neck, with the other he cut his throat as clean as a whistle, just as Cut-in-Half had taught him to do with poor Gringalet a few minutes before."

"Bravo, bravo! Well done!"

"Gargousse for ever!"

"The little golden fly for ever!"

"Gringalet for ever! Gargousse for ever!"

"Well, my friends, I assure you, as you shout now, so did the whole population of La Petite Pologne shout an hour afterwards," said Pique-Vinaigre, delighted at the success of his story and the enthusiasm of his hearers.

"In what way?"

"I told you that, in order to complete his wicked purpose at his ease, the vagabond Cut-in-Half had closed the door inside. Towards the evening, the boys came in one after the other with their animals. The first rapped, but no answer; then, when they had all arrived, they knocked at the door, but no reply; so one went to find Le Doyen to tell him how they had knocked in vain, and that their master did not open to them. 'The fellow must be as drunk as an Englishman,' said he; 'I sent him some wine just now. We must break open the door, for the children cannot pass the night out-of-doors.' So they burst in the door, and then they went up the stairs, and what should they see but Gargousse chained and crouching on his master's body, playing with the razor! Poor Gringalet was fortunately out of Gargousse's reach and still on the chair, not daring to look on Cut-in-Half's body, but gazing at,—guess what, the little golden fly, which, after having flitted round and round the child as if to congratulate him, had, at last, come and settled on his poor little hand.

"Gringalet related all to Le Doyen and the crowd that came in, and, as it really appeared like the interposition of Providence, Le Doyen cried, 'A triumph for Gringalet! A triumph to Gargousse who killed the infamous Cut-in-Half! He cut others, it was his turn to be cut himself.' 'Yes, yes,' cried the assembled mob, for the beast-shower was universally detested, 'a triumph to Gargousse! A triumph for Gringalet!' It was night, and they lighted straw torches, fastened Gargousse to a bench, which four chaps carried on their shoulders; and the blackguard of an ape seemed as if he felt his consequence, and gave himself the airs of a conquering hero, by showing his teeth to the multitude. After the ape came Le Doyen, carrying Gringalet in his arms; then all the little fellows, each carrying his beast, followed him, one with his fox, another his marmotte, another his guinea-pig; and those who played on the hurdy-gurdy played now; then there were the charcoal-sellers who had their bells, and there was such an uproar, such joy, such a fête as can be scarcely imagined. Behind the musicians and animal-showers came all the dwellers in La Petite Pologne, men, women, and children, all holding straw torches, and halloaing like mad, 'Vive Gringalet! Vive Gargousse!' The procession advanced in this way around the place in which Cut-in-Half dwelt. It was a very singular sight to see the old buildings lighted up by the red light of the straw torches, which flared and flared. As to Gringalet, the first thing he did when he was at liberty was to put the little golden fly in a paper bag, and he exclaimed during his triumph, 'Little flies, I did very right in preventing the spiders from eating you, for—'"

Pique-Vinaigre was interrupted by a voice from without, exclaiming:

"Père Roussel, come to your soup; it only wants ten minutes to four!"

"Ma foi! The story is nearly finished, and I must go. Many thanks, my lad, you have amused me very much, and that you may tell everybody," said the superintendent to Pique-Vinaigre, going to the door; then pausing, "Mind and be quiet," he said, turning towards the prisoners.

"We shall hear the end of the story," said the Skeleton, breathless with suppressed rage; then, adding in a whisper to Gros-Boiteux, "Follow him to the door, and, when you see him leave the yard, cry Gargousse, and the informer is a dead man."

"All right," said Le Gros-Boiteux, who accompanied the guardian, and remained at the door watching his steps as he went away.

"I tell you, then," resumed Pique-Vinaigre, "that Gringalet, during the whole time of his triumph, said, 'Little flies, I have—'"

"Gargousse!" cried Gros-Boiteux, as the turnkey quitted the yard.

"I'm here, Gringalet, and I will be your spider!" cried the Skeleton, instantly, and darting so suddenly on Germain that he could not make a struggle or utter a cry. His voice expired under the tremendous gripe of the Skeleton's iron fingers.

"If you are the spider, I'm the golden fly, Skeleton of evil," cried a voice, at the moment when Germain, surprised at the violent and sudden attack of his implacable enemy, had fallen back on the bench entirely at the mercy of the ruffian, who, with his knee on his breast, held him by the neck. "Yes, I will be the fly, and a fly of the right sort!" repeated the man in the blue cap, of whom we have already spoken, and then, with a fierce spring, he dashed upon the Skeleton, and assailed him on the skull and between his eyes with a shower of blows from his fist, so tremendous that it sounded like the noise of a smith's hammer ringing on an anvil.

"The Skeleton Staggered at First"
Original Etching by Marcel

The man in the blue cap, who was no other than the Chourineur, added, as he redoubled the quickness of his hammering on the Skeleton's head:

"It is the shower of blows which M. Rodolph drummed on my sconce, and I have recollected them."

At this unexpected assault the prisoners were all struck with surprise, and did not take part either for or against the Chourineur. Several of them, still under the influence of the salutary impression made on them by Pique-Vinaigre's story, were even glad of an event which saved Germain. The Skeleton staggered at first, and, reeling like an ox under the butcher's poleaxe, mechanically extended his hands to try and ward off his adversary's blows, and Germain, thus freed from the deadly clutch of the Skeleton, half raised himself.

"What does this mean? Who is this scoundrel?" exclaimed Le Gros-Boiteux, and, rushing at the Chourineur, he endeavoured to seize his arms from behind, whilst the latter was making violent efforts to keep the Skeleton down on the bench. Germain's defender replied to Le Gros-Boiteux's attack by a kind of kick, so violent that it sent the cripple rolling on the ground to the farther end of the circle formed by the prisoners.

Germain, whose face was livid and purple, half suffocated, and on his knees by the bench, seemed unconscious of all that was passing around him. The strangulation had been so violent that he could scarcely breathe.

After his first surprise was over, the Skeleton, by a desperate effort, contrived to keep the Chourineur off and regain his feet. Breathless, drunk with rage and hatred, he was fearful to look upon. His cadaverous face streamed with blood, his upper lip curled like that of a furious wolf, exposed his teeth clenched against each other. At last he exclaimed, in a voice palpitating with anger and exertion, for his struggle had been very violent:

"Stab him,—the ruffian!—you cowards, who let me be traitorously attacked, or the informer will escape!"

During this momentary truce, the Chourineur, raising Germain half fainting, had managed very cleverly to put him in an angle of the wall, and, availing himself of this advantageous position of defence, he was able, without fear of surprise from behind, to resist any attack of the prisoners, on whom the skill and herculean powers he had displayed had imposed considerable respect.

Pique-Vinaigre, greatly alarmed, had disappeared without his absence being remarked.

Seeing hesitation amongst the majority of prisoners, the Skeleton exclaimed:

"Aid me now, let us do for both, the big 'un as well as the little 'un!"

"Look out for squalls, then," replied the Chourineur, preparing for a struggle, with his two hands squared, and standing well-balanced on his loins; "and mind your eye, Skeleton! If you mean to play the Cut-in-Half, I'll serve you as Gargousse did, and slit your weasand."

"Fall on him!" said Le Gros-Boiteux, getting up.

"Why does this vagabond defend spies? Death to the informer, and to him, too! If he defends Germain he is a traitor!"

"Yes, yes, death to the spy! Death!"

"Yes, and death to the traitor who defends him!"

Such were the cries uttered by the fiercest of the détenus. Another party, more merciful, exclaimed:

"No, let's hear him first!"

"Yes, let him explain; we mustn't kill a man without a hearing!"

"And without means of defence, too! Must we be Cut-in-Halfs?"

"So much the better!" replied the Skeleton's partisans.

"Nothing's too bad for a spy!"

"Let's fall on him! Let us support the Skeleton!"

"Yes, let's at the Blue Cap!"

"No, let's support the Blue Cap, and let's at the Skeleton!" retorted the Chourineur's party.

"No, down with the Blue Cap!"

"Down with the Skeleton!"

"Well done, my boys!" cried the Chourineur, addressing the prisoners who sided with him. "You're good fellows, and would not massacre a half dead man; none but cowards would do that. The Skeleton does not care what evil he does; he is sentenced beforehand, and that is why he urges you on; but if you help to kill Germain, you will be severely punished for it. Besides, I have something to propose. The Skeleton is desirous of doing for this young man; well, let him come and take him if he thinks he has the pluck to do it; let us two settle it; leave us to ourselves, and see what turns up. But he's afraid; he's like Cut-in-Half, only strong with the weak."

The vigour, energy, and rough manner of the Chourineur had powerful effect on the prisoners, and a considerable number of them had ranged themselves on his side, and surrounded Germain, whilst the Skeleton's party drew around that ruffian. A bloody fray would have ensued, when there was heard in the yard the sonorous and measured tread of a piquet of infantry, always on guard in the prison. Pique-Vinaigre, profiting by the general stir and noise, had gained the yard, and, having knocked at the wicket of the entrance, had told the turnkeys what was passing in the day-room. The arrival of the soldiers put an end to this scene. Germain, the Skeleton, and the Chourineur were taken before the governor of La Force; the first to make his complaint, the two others to answer for creating a disturbance inside the gaol.

The fright and suffering of Germain had been so great, his weakness so extreme, that he was obliged to lean on two of the turnkeys, in order to reach a chamber next to the governor's room. There he was very ill. His neck, excoriated as it was, bore the livid and bleeding imprint of the Skeleton's iron grasp; a few minutes more, and Rigolette's betrothed would have been strangled. The turnkey, who had taken an interest in Germain, gave him first assistance. When he had recovered, his first thought was of his deliverer.

"Thanks for your kind cares, sir," he said to the turnkey. "But for that brave man, I must have been killed. Where is he?"

"In the governor's room, telling him how the disturbance arose. It appears that but for him—"

"I must have been killed. Oh, tell me his name! Who is he?"

"His name I do not know, but they call him the Chourineur; he is an old offender."

"And is his crime now very serious?"

"Very; burglary in the night in an inhabited house," replied the turnkey. "He will probably have a similar dose to Pique-Vinaigre, fifteen or twenty years of hard labour."

Germain shuddered; he would have preferred being bound by gratitude to a man less criminal.

"How dreadful!" he said. "And yet this man without knowing me defended me; such courage, such generosity!"

"Ah, these men have sometimes a touch of good! The main point is that you are saved. To-morrow you will have your private cell, and to-night you will sleep in the infirmary. So, courage, sir. The bad time is over; and when your pretty little visitor comes to see you, you can comfort her, for once in a cell you have nothing to fear; only you will do wisely, I think, not to tell her of this affair."

"Certainly not; but I should like to thank my defender."

"I have just been leaving the governor, who will now interrogate the Skeleton, and I shall take them both, the Skeleton to his dungeon directly, and the Chourineur to the Fosse aux Lions; he will be, besides, somewhat rewarded for what he has done for you; as he is a determined and stout fellow, he will probably replace the Skeleton as captain of the ward."

The Chourineur, having crossed a small passage from the governor's apartment, entered the room in which Germain was.

"Wait for me here," said the turnkey to the Chourineur. "I will go and ask the governor what he decides upon as to the Skeleton, and I will return and let you know. Our young man has quite recovered, and wishes to thank you, and so he should, for otherwise it would have been all over with him." And the turnkey went out.

The Chourineur's countenance was very joyous, and he advanced towards Germain, saying, with a cheerful air:

"Thunder! How glad I am! How glad I saved you!" and he extended his hand to Germain, who, by a feeling of involuntary repulsion, withdrew somewhat, instead of taking the hand which the Chourineur offered to him; then, remembering that he owed his life to this man, he was desirous of repairing this display of repugnance. But the Chourineur perceived it; his features became overcast, and, retreating in his turn, he said, with bitter sorrow, "Oh, it is right; your pardon, sir!"

"No, it is I who ought to ask your pardon; am I not a prisoner like yourself? Ought I not to think of the service you have rendered me? You have saved my life. Your hand, sir, I beg—I entreat—your hand!"

"Thanks; but it is useless now. The first feeling is everything. If you had directly given me a grasp of the hand, it would have afforded me pleasure, but, when I reflect, I would not desire it. Not because I am a prisoner like you," he added, with a sombre and hesitating air, "because, before I came here, I have been—"

"The turnkey told me all," said Germain, interrupting him; "but yet you saved my life."

"I have done no more than my duty and pleasure, for I know who you are—Monsieur Germain."

"You know me!"

"A little, my lad," said the Chourineur, resuming his usual tone of habitual carelessness; "and, pardieu! you would have been very wrong to have attributed my arrival at La Force to chance. If I had not known you, I should not have been in prison."

Germain looked at the Chourineur with amazement.

"What! It was because you knew me?"

"That I am here a prisoner in La Force."

"I, who owe you—"

"A candle to the Virgin, for having procured me the advantage of being in La Force."

"Really," said Germain, passing his hand over his brow. "I do not know whether the terrible shock I have just undergone has weakened my senses, but it is impossible for me to understand you. The turnkey told me you were here under a charge of—of—" said Germain, with hesitation.

"Robbery, pardieu! And robbery with forcible entry, and moreover at night; nothing could be more complete!" cried the Chourineur, with a hearty laugh.

Germain, painfully excited at the bold hardihood of the Chourineur, could not forbear saying to him:

"What, you, so brave, so generous, and speak in this way! Are you not aware of the terrible punishment to which you are exposed?"

"Twenty years at the galleys; I know that. I am an out-and-out scoundrel, I know that, for taking it so easy. But what's the use when one has been and done it? And then, for me to say that it was you, M. Germain," added the Chourineur, heaving a tremendous sigh, and with an air of assumed contrition, "who are the cause of my misfortune."

"When you explain yourself more clearly, I shall understand you. Just as much as you please, but my gratitude for the service you have rendered me will never cease or diminish," added Germain, sorrowfully.

"Oh, pardon me, M. Germain!" replied the Chourineur, becoming serious. "You do not like to see me laugh at this; do not let us add another word. I must let all out with you, and so, perhaps, force you to shake my hand."

"I have no doubt of that; for, in spite of the crime of which you are accused, and of which you accuse yourself, all in you bespeaks so much courage and frankness that I am convinced you are charged unjustly; strong suspicions may exist, but I am sure that is all."

"Oh, as to that you are mistaken, M. Germain!" said the Chourineur, hastily; "on my word as a man, and as true as I have a protector,"—the Chourineur took off his cap,—"who is more than all the world to me, I robbed at night by forcing the shutter, and was caught in the fact and deprived of all I was endeavouring to carry off."

"But want—hunger—pushed you to such an extremity?"

"Hunger! I had one hundred and twenty francs when they apprehended me, the remains of a note of one thousand francs, without including the protector I have mentioned to you, who, by the way, does not know that I am here, but will not let me want for anything. Since, however, I have mentioned him to you, you must suppose I am in earnest, for you must know that he is a man to go on your knees before. So I must tell you, too, that the shower of blows which I drummed on the Skeleton's sconce was a sketch after his style, copied from nature. The idea of the robbery was on his account; and, in fact, if you were not strangled by the Skeleton, it is through him."

"But this protector?"

"Is yours also."

"Mine!"

"Yes, M. Rodolph protects you. When I say monsieur, I should say monseigneur, for he is at least a prince; but I have a habit of calling him M. Rodolph, which he permits me to do."

"You are under some mistake," said Germain, more and more surprised; "I do not know the prince."

"Yes, but he knows you. You don't believe it? Well, that's possible, for that's his way. He knows that there is some worthy fellow in trouble, and then, in an instant, the good fellow is comforted, and, without being seen or known, he is at work, and kindness falls from the skies, like a tile from a house on your head. So patience, and one day or other you will have your tile."

"Really, what you say amazes me!"

"Ah, you'll have a great deal more to amaze you yet! To return to my protector: Some time ago, after a service which he persisted I had done him, he procured me a splendid position, I need not say where, or any more about it, for it would be a long tale to tell. Well, he sends me to Marseilles to embark and go to a capital appointment in Algeria. I left Paris as happy as a child; but, all of a sudden, a change comes over me."

"That was singular!"

"Why, you must know that once separated from M. Rodolph I was uneasy, disturbed, as fidgety as a dog who has lost his master. It was very stupid; but so are dogs, sometimes, but that does not prevent them from being at least attached, and as well mindful of the nice bits given them as of the thumps and kicks they have had, and M. Rodolph had given me many nice bits, and, in truth, M. Rodolph is everything to me. From being a riotous, dare-devil, good-for-nothing blackguard, he made an honest man of me by only saying two words, just for all the world like magic."

"What were the words he said?"

"He said I had still heart and honour, although I have been at the galleys, not for having stolen, it is true,—ah, never that,—but what perhaps is worse, for having killed,—yes," said the Chourineur, in a gloomy tone, "killed in a moment of passion, because formerly growing up like a brute beast, or, rather, as a vagabond, without father or mother, and left abandoned in the streets of Paris, I knew neither God nor devil—neither good nor evil. Sometimes the blood mounted to my eyes, and I saw red, and if I had a knife in my hands I slashed and hacked,—I was a real savage—a beast, and only lived amongst thieves and scoundrels. I was in the mud, and in the mud I lived as well as I could. But when M. Rodolph said to me that since, in spite of the contempt of all the world and my misery, instead of plundering like others I had preferred working as long as I could, and for what I could, that showed I had still heart and honour—thunder!—you see these two words had the same effect on me as if I had been seized by the hair of my head and lifted a thousand feet into the air above the vermin with whom I dwelt, and showed me the filth in which my life was spent. So I said, 'Thank ye, I've had enough of this!' Then my heart beat with something else besides anger, and I took an oath to myself always to preserve that honour which M. Rodolph spoke of. You see, M. Germain, that when M. Rodolph told me so kindly that I was not so bad as I believed myself to be, that encouraged me, and, thanks to him, I became better than I had been."

When he heard this language, Germain comprehended less and less how the Chourineur had committed the robbery of which he accused himself.

"No," he said to himself, "it is impossible; the man who was so exalted at the two words honour and heart cannot have committed the robbery of which he talks with so much self-complacency."

The Chourineur continued, without remarking the astonishment of Germain:

"To say the truth, what made me be like a dog to his master to M. Rodolph was that he raised me in my own opinion. Before I knew him I never felt but on my skin, but he moved me inwardly, and to the bottom of my heart. Once away from him and the place he inhabited, I felt like a body without a soul. In proportion as I proceeded farther I said to myself, 'He leads such a strange life,—mixes with such scamps (I can answer for that), that he risks his body twenty times a day, and, under some such circumstances, I may be his dog and defend my master, for I am strong in the jaws;' but then he had said to me,'My good fellow, you must become useful to others, therefore go where you can be serviceable.' I was very nearly replying, 'I have no one to serve but you, M. Rodolph,' but I daredn't. He said to me, 'Go,' and I went, and have gone as far as I could; but, thunder! when I ought to have gone on board the ship, left France, and put the sea between M. Rodolph and myself, I had not the courage. He had desired his correspondent to give me a great lump of money when I sailed, so I went to the gentleman, and said to him, 'Sir, I can't do it—I'd rather do anything, so please to give me enough to pay my journey on foot; I have good legs, and I will return to Paris, for I cannot leave France. M. Rodolph will be angry, and, perhaps, refuse to see me,—that's possible; but I shall see him, know where he is, and if he goes on as usual, sooner or later I may, perhaps, arrive in time to come between him and a stab with a knife; and then I really cannot go so far away from him! Something I cannot account for attracts me to his side.' Well, they gave me sufficient to pay my way, and I reached Paris. Then I really was frightened. What could I say to M. Rodolph to excuse myself? But, after all, he would not eat me up; so I went to find his friend, a tall, bald-headed man, but a right sort of fellow as ever broke bread. When I saw M. Murphy, I said,'Now my fate will be decided;' and my throat was dry, and my heart beat such a pace! I expected to catch it pretty handsomely, but, what d'ye think? Why, the worthy gentleman received me just as if we had only parted the previous evening, and told me that M. Rodolph, instead of being angry, wished to see me as soon as possible. Well, so I went at once to my protector,—him with such a stout fist and good heart,—and when I was face to face with him he who is as terrible as a lion and as gentle as a child—he who is a prince, and yet puts on a blouse like me—and once on a time (I bless the day, or night, rather) laid on me such a shower of blows that I saw nothing but fire, why, M. Germain, when I reflected on all the agreeable qualities he is master of, I felt completely overcome, and I snivelled like a woman. Well, instead of laughing at me, for I must be a rum-looking lot when I pipe my eye, M. Rodolph said to me, seriously, 'Here you are back again, my good fellow, eh?' 'Yes, M. Rodolph, and pray excuse me if I have done wrong, but I could not help it. Give me some corner in your courtyard, give me a crust and a glass, or let me earn it here,—that's all I ask, and pray don't be angry with me for coming back.' 'So far from it, my man, you have come back just in time to do me a service.' 'I, M. Rodolph? Is that possible? Well, there must have been something above, for if not, how could I explain how it was I must come back here at the very moment when you wanted me? What can I do for you, M. Rodolph?' 'An honest, worthy young man, in whom I take the interest I should do in a son, has been unjustly accused of robbery, and is a prisoner in La Force. His name is Germain; he is of a gentle, quiet disposition. The wretches with whom he is confined have conceived a great aversion for him, and he is in great danger. You unfortunately have known what a prison life is, and a great many prisoners; could not you, in case there may be any of your old companions in La Force (we will find that out), go and see them, and, by promises of money, which shall be duly performed, induce them to protect this unfortunate young man?'"

"But who can this generous and unknown man be, who takes so much interest in my fate?" asked Germain, more and more surprised.

"You will learn, perhaps, hereafter,—as for me, I do not know. To return to my conversation with M. Rodolph. Whilst he was speaking to me there came an idea into my head, so curious, so whimsical, that I could not forbear laughing outright before him. 'What is it, my lad?' said he. 'Why, M. Rodolph, I laugh because I am so happy, and I am happy because I have the means of putting your M. Germain quite safe from any ill-will on the part of the prisoners, of giving him a protector who will defend him boldly, for when once the young fellow is under the care of the man I mean, not one will dare look at him impertinently.' 'Very good—one of your old comrades, no doubt?' 'Exactly so, M. Rodolph; he has been in La Force some days, that I know. But I must have some money.' 'How much shall you require,—a note for a thousand francs? Here it is.' 'Thank ye, M. Rodolph; in two days you will have some news.'"

"I begin to understand, or, rather, I'm afraid to understand," exclaimed Germain. "To come and protect me in this prison you have, perhaps, committed a robbery? Oh, what remorse will beset all my life!"

"Hold hard! M. Rodolph had said I had heart and honour,—-these words are my law, you must know; and he may still say it to me, for if I am no better than I was before, at least I am no worse."

"But this robbery, if you have not committed it, why are you here?"

"Listen! There is a capital joke with my thousand francs, I bought myself a black wig, shaved my whiskers, put on blue spectacles, bent my head on one side, and made up my back as if it were humped, and then went in search of two apartments to let, on the ground floor, in a bustling part of the city. I found what I looked for in the Rue de Provence, and paid a month in advance, under the name of M. Grégoire. Next day I went to the Temple to buy furniture for my two rooms, with my black wig, my hump, and blue glasses, so that I might be easily recognised. Well, I sent the goods to the Rue de Provence, and, moreover, six silver spoons, which I bought in the Boulevard St. Denis, still disguised with my hump. I returned then to arrange all my affairs in my residence. I told the porter I should not sleep there until the following night, and took away my key. The windows of the two rooms were closed with strong shutters. Before I went away I had purposely left one with the bolt undrawn. The night came, and I put off my wig, my spectacles, my hump, and the clothes in which I had made my purchases and hired my apartments, putting this suit in a portmanteau, which I forwarded to M. Murphy, M. Rodolph's friend, begging him to take care of it for me. I then bought this blouse, and the blue cotton cap, and a bar of iron two feet long; and at one o'clock in the morning I went into the Rue de Provence, where I lurked about before my lodging, awaiting the moment when the patrol would pass and prevent my robbing myself,—committing a burglary on my own premises, in order to be caught and apprehended."

And the Chourineur burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

"I begin to understand," cried Germain.

"But I was nearly getting in a 'fix,' for no patrol passed. I might have robbed myself twenty times with the greatest ease and safety. At last, about two o'clock in the morning, I heard the tread of the soldier boys, and then I pushed open the window, jumped into the room, pocketed the silver spoons and some other trifles. Fortunately the lively patrol had heard the smash of the windows, and just as I leaped out of the window they laid hands upon me. They knocked at the door, which the porter opened, they sent for the sergeant of police, who came. The porter told him that the two rooms had been hired that morning by a humpbacked gentleman, with black hair and blue spectacles, whose name was Grégoire. I had the thick head of hair which you now see, and my eyes were as wide open as a hare's on the watch, was as upright as a Russian sentinel, and could not be taken for a humpbacked gentleman, with blue glasses and black hair. I confessed all, and was conducted to the station, and from the station to this prison, where I arrived in the nick of time to snatch from the clutch of the Skeleton the young man of whom M. Rodolph had said to me, 'I am interested in him as much as if he were my own son.'"

"What do I not owe you for such devotion?"

"Not to me,—you owe it to M. Rodolph."

"But whence arises his interest in me?"

"That is for him to tell you, or, perhaps, he will not tell you, for he very often chooses to do good, and if you ask him why, he will not let you know."

"M. Rodolph, then, knows you are here?"

"I'm not such a fool as to tell him my plans; perhaps he would not have consented to my whim, and, really, I must say it was capital."

"But what risks you have run,—indeed, still run."

"Oh, what risk? I might not have been brought to La Force,—that was the worst risk,—but I relied on M. Rodolph's interest to have my prison changed, so that I might have got to you."

"But at your trial?"

"Well, I shall beg M. Murphy to send me the portmanteau. Before the judge I shall appear in my black wig, blue spectacles, and hump, and shall be again M. Grégoire for the porter who let me the chambers and the tradespeople who sold me the goods. So much for the robbery. If they wish to see the thief again, I'll put off my suit, and then it will be as clear as daylight that the robber and the robbed together only make a total of the Chourineur and no more. And what the devil would you expect when it is proved that I robbed myself?"

"Why, indeed," said Germain, more assured; "but since you take so much interest in me, why did you not speak to me when you came first into the prison?"

"I knew instantly of the scheme against you by the prisoners, and I might have denounced them before Pique-Vinaigre began or ended his story; but to denounce such ruffians did not suit my ideas,—I preferred trusting only to my fist in order to snatch you from the clutch of the Skeleton; and when I saw that scoundrel I said to myself, 'This is a fine opportunity for putting in practice that shower of blows to which I owe the honour of M. Rodolph's acquaintance.'"

"But if all the prisoners had taken part against you, alone, what could you have done?"

"Why, then, I should have shrieked like an eagle and called lustily for help. But I preferred having my little affair all to myself, that I might be able to say to M. Rodolph, 'I was all alone in the matter. I have defended and will defend your friend,—be easy on that subject.'"

At this moment the turnkey suddenly returned to the apartment.

"Monsieur Germain, go to the governor; he wishes to speak to you immediately. And you, Chourineur, go down into the Fosse-aux-Lions; you are to be prévôt, if you like, for you have all the qualifications for that duty, and the prisoners will not joke with a man of your sort."

"It is all the same to me, I'd as soon be captain as private."

"Will you refuse my hand now?" said Germain, cordially.

"Ma foi! no, M. Germain! I'll shake hands with all my heart."

"We shall see one another again, for I am now under your protection. I shall have nothing more to fear, and shall, therefore, come down every day from my cell into the yard."

"Make yourself quite easy on that score. But now I think of it, write a line to M. Rodolph, who will then no longer be uneasy about you, and will also learn that I am here for a good reason, for if he were to hear that I had committed a robbery, and did not know all the real facts,—thunder! That would not do by any means."

"Make your mind easy. I will write this very evening to my unknown protector. Once more, good-bye, and thanks most heartily, my worthy friend."

"Good-bye, M. Germain. I must return to those scoundrels, and I'll make them go right; if not, let them look out for squalls!"

"When I reflect that it is on my account that you must remain some time longer with these wretches—"

"What consequence is that? There is no fear of their turning on me;" and the Chourineur followed the turnkey.

Germain went to the governor. What was his surprise to find Rigolette there! pale, agitated, and her eyes bathed in tears; and yet smiling through her tears, her countenance expressing unutterable happiness.

"I have good news for you, sir," said the governor to Germain; "justice has declared that no prosecution can be instituted against you; and in consequence of the withdrawing of this, and explanations that have taken place, I have received an order to set you at liberty immediately."

"Sir! What do you say? Can it be possible?"

Rigolette tried to speak, but her extreme emotion prevented her, and she could only make an affirmative sign to Germain with her head, and clasp her hands.

"Mademoiselle arrived a few minutes after I had received the order to set you at liberty," added the governor. "A very powerful letter of recommendation which she brought to me informed me of the touching devotion she had shown to you in prison; and it is with extreme pleasure that I sent for you, certain that you will be very happy to offer your arm to mademoiselle, and lead her hence."

"A dream! It must be a dream!" said Germain. "Ah, sir, how can I thank you? Excuse my astonishment,—joy prevents me from thanking you as I ought."

"And I, too, M. Germain,—I cannot find a word to say," said Rigolette; "only imagine my delight when I left you on finding the friend of M. Rodolph, who was waiting for me."

"Again M. Rodolph!" exclaimed Germain, astonished.

"Yes, and M. Murphy said to me, 'Germain is free—here is a letter for the governor of the prison; when you arrive there he will have received the order for Germain's release, and you may take him away with you.' I could not believe what I heard, and yet it was true. Well, as quick as possible, I took a hackney-coach, and came here; it is waiting for us at the gate."

We will not attempt to paint the delight of the two lovers when they quitted La Force, and the evening they passed together in Rigolette's small apartment, which Germain quitted at eleven o'clock to go to a humble furnished room.

END OF VOLUME V.

Transcriber's Notes:

This e-text was prepared from numbered edition 505 of the 1000 printed.

In the original text the title "The Mysteries of Paris" and the "Edition de Luxe" are printed in Bold Gothic Font.

Minor punctuation and capitalization corrections have been made without comment.

Minor typographical errors of single words, otherwise spelled correctly throughout the text have been made without comment.

Word Variations appearing in the original text which have been retained:

"pocket-book" (1) and "pocketbook" (3)
"protégé" (2) and "protégée" (3)

Throughout the text, illustrations and their captions were placed on facing pages. For the purpose of this e-text these pages have been combined into one entry.

Footnotes, originally at the bottom of a printed page, have been placed directly below the paragraph in which their anchor symbol appears.