"Thanks, my good fellow!" said Germain, eagerly, as he separated from his companion; "rely on my prudence!"

Only that morning aware of the plot against Germain, which, as far as he knew, consisted merely in an intention of involving him in some affray which should compel the governor of the prison to remove him to some other yard in the building, Pique-Vinaigre was not only ignorant of the murderous designs so recently projected by the Skeleton, but equally so that the conspirators intended to avail themselves of his recital of "Gringalet and Cut-in-Half" to deceive the vigilance of the officer on duty, as well as to beguile his attention from what was going on.

"Come on, old Make-believe!" said Nicholas to Pique-Vinaigre, as he advanced to meet him. "Throw away that lump of dog's-meat you have got in your hand; we have got a regular feast among us, and you are invited to it!"

"A feast? La, how nice! What, out of the Panier Fleuri, or the Petit Ramponneau?—tell us which it is! But they are both such nice places, there isn't a pin to choose."

"Oh, you fool! Our feast is prepared in the day-room; all laid out so temptingly on a bench. There you'll see ham and eggs, and cheese, and—It's my treat, mind!"

"Well, I'm one of the right sort to walk into it. But it seems a pity to throw away this good ration I have just received! I only wish my poor sister and her children could have the benefit of it. Ah, poor things! It's not often they see meat, unless, indeed, when they find a few scraps thrown out before the butcher's door."

"Oh, bother about your sister and her brats! Let's go in, or Barbillon and the Skeleton will leave nothing but empty trenchers for us!"

Nicholas and Pique-Vinaigre entered together into the day-room, where they found the Skeleton sitting astride on the bench on which the savoury viands were displayed, swearing and grumbling at the absence of the founder of the feast.

"Oh, there you are, you creeping animal!" exclaimed the ruffian, as he caught sight of the story-teller. "What the deuce hindered you from bringing your blessed carcass here a little sooner?"

"He was spinning a yarn with Germain when I found him," answered Nicholas, helping himself to a large slice of the ham.

"Ho, ho!" cried the Skeleton, gazing earnestly on Pique-Vinaigre, without, however, diminishing the ardour with which he devoured the provisions; "so you were gossiping with Germain, were you?"

"Yes, I was," returned Pique-Vinaigre. "But what a fool that Germain is! I used to think that he was a sort of spy in the yard; but, Lord love you, he is too much of a simpleton for that!"

"Oh, you think so, do you?" said the Skeleton, exchanging a rapid and significant glance with Nicholas and Barbillon.

"I'm as sure of it as I am that I see a capital ham before me. Besides, how the devil can he be a spy when he is always by himself? He speaks to no one, and nobody ever changes a word with him; and you all know that he runs from us as if we carried the plague in our pockets. Now, how a man can tell many tales who acts as he does, is more than I can conceive. However, spy or not, he will not be able to do us much more harm, as to-morrow he will obtain a room for himself."

"The deuce he will!" replied the Skeleton. Then taking advantage of a conversation which had commenced between Barbillon and Pique-Vinaigre, he leaned towards Nicholas, and said, whisperingly, "You see, we have not an instant to lose. After four o'clock to-day all chance of serving him out is over; it is now nearly three. You see, unfortunately, he does not sleep in my dormitory, or I would settle him in the night; and to-morrow he will be out of our reach."

"Well, I don't care!" answered Nicholas, as though replying to some observation of his companions; "I say—and I'll stick to it—Germain always seems to look down upon us as though we were not as good as he."

"No, no!" interposed Pique-Vinaigre; "you are quite wrong as regards this young man—you are, indeed. You frighten him—you do; and I know that he considers himself not fit to hold a candle to you. Why, if you only knew what he was saying to me just now—"

"Let's hear what it was!"

"'Why,' says he, 'you are a lucky fellow, Pique-Vinaigre, you are,' he says, 'to take the liberty of speaking to the celebrated Skeleton (that was the very word he used), just for all the world as if you were his equal! But whenever I meet him,' he says, 'I feel myself overcome with so much awe and respect that, though I would give my eyes out of my head to know him and converse with him, I no more dare do it than I should make bold to accost the préfet de police if he were in his chair of office, and me beholding him body and bones.'"

"He said that, did he?" returned the Skeleton, feigning to believe the well-meant fiction of Pique-Vinaigre, as well as to feel gratified by the deep admiration he was reported to have excited in the breast of Germain.

"As true as that you are the cleverest ruffian upon earth, he said those very words; and, more than that, he—"

"Oh, then, if that is the case," said the Skeleton, "I shall make it up with him. Barbillon wanted to pick a quarrel with him, but I shall advise him to be quiet."

"That's right!" exclaimed Pique-Vinaigre, fully persuaded that he had effectually diverted from Germain the danger that threatened him; "that would be much the best way! For this poor chicken-hearted fellow would never quarrel,—simply because, like me, he has not pluck enough to fight; therefore it is no use getting into a dispute."

"Still," cried the Skeleton, "I am sorry, too, that we shall not have our fun; we had quite reckoned upon getting up a fight with Germain to amuse us after dinner. I don't know now what we shall do to kill the time."

"Ah, to be sure!" chimed in Nicholas. "What the deuce shall we do with ourselves? Can anybody tell me?"

"Well, then, I'll settle it!" said Barbillon. "Since you seem to recommend my leaving Germain alone, I'll agree to do so, on condition that Pique-Vinaigre tells us one of his best stories."

"Done!" exclaimed the story-teller. "But I must make one condition as well as you, and, without both are agreed to, I don't open my lips."

"Well, then, say what your other condition is. I dare say it is not more difficult than the former, and we soon agreed about that."

"It is that this honourable company, which is overstocked with riches," said the Pique-Vinaigre, resuming his old tone when addressing his audiences preparatory to commencing his juggling tricks, "will have the trifling kindness to club together and present me with the small sum of twenty sous,—a mere trifle, gents, when you are about to listen to the celebrated Pique-Vinaigre, who has had the honour of appearing before the most celebrated prigs of the day—he who is now expected at Brest or Toulon, by the special command of his majesty's government."

"Well, then, we'll stand the twenty sous after you have finished your story."

"After?—no—before!" said Pique-Vinaigre.

"What! Do you suppose us capable of doing you out of twenty sous?" asked the Skeleton, with an air of disdain.

"By no means!" replied Pique-Vinaigre. "I honour the stone jug with my confidence, and it is in order to economise its purse that I ask for twenty sous in advance."

"On your word and honour?"

"Yes, gentlemen; for, after my story, you will be so satisfied, that it is not twenty sous but twenty francs—a hundred francs—you will force me to take! I know that I should be shabby enough to accept them; and thus, you see, it is from consideration, and you will do wisely to give me twenty sous in advance."

"You don't want for the gift of the gab!"

"I have nothing but my tongue, and I must make use of that. And then,—if it must be told,—my sister and her children are in terrible distress, and, in a small house, even twenty sous is a consideration."

"Then why doesn't your sister prig, and her kids, too, if they're old enough?" asked Nicholas.

"Don't ask me; it distresses—dishonours me! I am too kind—"

"What do you mean, you fool? Why, you encourage her!"

"True; I encourage her in the vice of being honest, and that is the only line in which she shines. But come, it is agreed that I shall tell you my famous story of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half.' But you must hand out twenty sous, and Barbillon shall not pick a quarrel with this simpleton of a Germain!"

"Well, you shall have twenty sous, and Barbillon shall not pick a quarrel with that simpleton of a Germain," said the Skeleton.

"Then open your ears, and you will hear what you will hear! But it is raining, which will make the customers tumble in, and there will be no occasion to go out and seek them."

And the rain began to fall, and the prisoners, quitting the yard, took refuge in the day-room, the turnkey being still in attendance.

We have said that this room was large and long, with a pavement, and lighted by three windows, which looked out into the yard. In the centre was the stove, near which were the Skeleton, Barbillon, Nicholas, and Pique-Vinaigre. At a signal from the prévôt, the Gros-Boiteux joined this group. Germain was one of the last to enter, absorbed in most delightful thoughts, and he went mechanically to seat himself on the ledge at the lowest window in the apartment, a place he usually occupied, and which no one disputed with him, for it was at a distance from the stove around which the prisoners were assembled.

We have already said that some fifteen of the prisoners had been informed in the first instance of the treachery attributed to Germain, and the murder which was to avenge it. But, soon whispered to one another, the plan comprised as many adherents as there were prisoners; these ruffians, in their blind cruelty, considering this fearful plot as legitimate revenge, and viewing therein a certain guarantee against the future disclosure of spies. Germain, Pique-Vinaigre, and the turnkey were alone ignorant of what was about to take place. General attention was divided between the executioner, the victim, and the story-teller, who was about innocently to deprive Germain of the only succour he could hope for; for it is nearly sure that the turnkey, when he saw the prisoners attentive to the story of Pique-Vinaigre, would think his surveillance useless, and take advantage of that moment of tranquillity to go and take his meal. And when the prisoners had entered, the Skeleton said to the turnkey:

"Old fellow, Pique-Vinaigre has a capital idea; he is going to tell us his story of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half.' It is weather in which one would not put a policeman out-of-doors, and we shall quietly wait in till it is time to go to roost."

"Why, you are always pretty quiet when he begins his talk, and have no need for me to be at your heels."

"Yes," said the Skeleton; "but Pique-Vinaigre asks a high price,—he wants twenty sous for his story."

"Yes, the trifle of twenty sous,—a mere nothing!" cried Pique-Vinaigre. "Yes, gents, nothing; for who that had a liard would not bestow it to hear the adventures of poor little Gringalet, Cut-in-Half, and the wicked Gargousse? It will rend your hearts, and make your hair stand on end! And, gents, who is there that would not dispose of the paltry sum of four liards—or, if you prefer counting my mites, of five centimes—to have their hearts rent and their hair standing on end?"

"There are two sous," said the Skeleton, throwing down the piece of money before Pique-Vinaigre. "Come, is the stone-jug too niggardly to enjoy this pastime?" he added, looking at his accomplices with a significant air.

Several sous fell around him, to the great joy of Pique-Vinaigre, who thought of his sister as he collected the money.

"Eight—nine—ten—eleven—twelve—thirteen!" he said, as he picked up the money. "Now, my rich friends, my capitalists, and others of the cash interest, try once more. You cannot stop at thirteen, for it is an unlucky number! Only seven sous deficient, the trifle of seven sous! What, gents, shall it be said that the Fosse aux Lions could not produce seven sous—seven miserable sous? Oh, gents, gents, you would make me believe that you have been brought here very unjustly or that you have all had a sad run of ill luck."

The shrill voice and broad jests of Pique-Vinaigre had brought Germain from his reverie, and, as much to follow Rigolette's advice and make himself popular with the prisoners as to give a trifle to the poor devil who had testified some desire to be of service to him, he rose and threw a piece of ten sous at the tale-teller's feet, who exclaimed, as he pointed at his generous benefactor:

"Ten sous, gents! You see, I was speaking of capitalists! Honour to that gentleman! He behaves like one of the monied interest, as an ambassador to be agreeable to the company! Yes, gents; for it is to him that you will owe the greater portion of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half,' and you will thank him for it. As to the three sous over, why, I shall earn them by imitating the voices of the personages, instead of speaking like you and me. That will be another obligation you will owe to this wealthy capitalist, whom you ought to adore."

"Come, no more blarney, but begin!" said the Skeleton.

"One moment, gents!" said Pique-Vinaigre. "It is but right that the capitalist who has given me ten sous should be the best situated, except our prévôt, who has first choice."

This proposal squared so well with the Skeleton's project that he exclaimed:

"True; after me he ought to be best placed!" And again he looked significantly at the prisoners.

"Yes, yes; let him come nearer," said the prisoners.

"Let him sit on the front bench."

"You see, young man, your liberality is recompensed; the honourable company sees that you have a right to the front seat," said Pique-Vinaigre to Germain.

Believing that his liberality had really better disposed his hateful companions in his favour, and delighted thus to follow up Rigolette's earnest desires, Germain, in spite of considerable repugnance, left the place of his choice, and went towards the story-teller, who, having arranged four or five benches around the stove, by the aid of Nicholas and Barbillon, said, with emphasis:

"Here are the dress-boxes. All respect to the worthy—the capitalist first."

"Now, then, let those who have paid take their seats," added Pique-Vinaigre, gaily, firmly believing that, thanks to himself, Germain had nothing now to fear. "And those who have not paid," he added, "will sit down or stand up, which they please."

Let us sum up the arrangement of his scene. Pique-Vinaigre was standing up near the stove ready to commence; near him was the Skeleton, also standing up, and with his eyes intently fixed on Germain, ready to rush upon him the moment the turnkey left the cell. At some distance from Germain, Nicholas, Barbillon, Cardillac, and other prisoners, amongst whom was the man with the blue cotton nightcap and gray blouse, occupying the remoter benches. The majority of prisoners, grouped here and there, some sitting on the ground, others standing and leaning against the wall, composed the secondary figures of this picture, lighted, à la Rembrandt, by three lateral windows, which threw strong light and deep shadows on forms so variously characterised and so strongly marked. The turnkey, whose departure was to be, unknown to himself, the signal for Germain's murder, kept close to the door, which was ajar.

"Are we all ready?" asked Pique-Vinaigre of the Skeleton.

"Silence in the stone-jug!" said the latter, turning half around; and then addressing Pique-Vinaigre, "Now, begin; we are all attention!"

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."