"Oh, why?" said she, in an undertone, "I will tell you quickly. You know, perhaps, that there are people in Paris, whose sole business consists in stealing cats: well, it is such cats as our pastrycook here buys, kills, and makes his pies of; and-but of course I need not tell you any more. But is it not horrible to think of? It is true, I assure you; I have it from the best authority: pray, therefore, eat no more of those pies, good Monsieur Dumenil."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Monsieur Dumenil, in seeming indignation. "Well, I'll bring the man to book for this directly he shall certainly not go unpunished."

But Madame Rivage, in alarm, held him back: "Stop, stop," she cried; "you surely will not betray me? Remember, for Heaven's sake, it is told you in confidence-it is a secret."

"Why, madame," replied Monsieur Dumenil, gravely, "you must either know it for certain, in which case it is your duty to bring such dishonesty to light, that it may be punished; or, if it is merely supposition, you are acting extremely bad in spreading a report which must seriously injure this man."

"Well, well," rejoined Madame Rivage, mortified; "I see very clearly my sympathy and candour will be ill repaid. Do as you like, sir; tell it, or tell it not; I care little about it; only that, if you are foolish enough to repeat what I have told you to the man, I shall take good care to deny it! I am sure I don't want to get myself into any scrape; for, thank Heaven! I live in peace and good will. I know what I live upon; whilst other folks, who eat pastry—Adieu, Monsieur Dumenil, adieu!"

Feeling rather uneasy in her mind, lest Monsieur Dumenil should really inform the baker of what she had stated, the

X

malicious woman thought she had better be beforehand with him; and, therefore, at once hastened to the man, and insinuated that Monsier Dumenil had expressed himself very disparagingly about his pies: "In fact," added she, "he said, 'one could not at all tell what was in them, the taste was so very peculiar.""

"Indeed! Well," exclaimed the enraged, but rather confused pieman, "he had better not say that in my hearing! My pies, indeed! which are as good as any possibly can be!"

"Well, well, my good man," said Madame Rivage, "never mind what such a person says about you-a person, about whom nothing is known as to how he exists from one day to the other. But never mind, it's not over yet; much may still come to light about that man. By-the-bye, I want to tell you something else; what was it?-Oh, ay, your little Savoyard boy! I suppose you hold him to be a very honest lad?" Why, yes, madame, the fellow is honest, although now-adays we ought to trust nobody, and, least of all, a wandering Savoyard, whom God has thrown upon the world to steal."

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'Well, I am glad you are satisfied with him. But only think, this very day I saw him with a purse full of money in his possession?

"What! A purse full of money? You are joking,

madame."

"Not I, indeed, for I never joke. You only ask him upon his oath, and he can't deny it. I say, a purse full of money." "Then I am sure he has been robbing me," exclaimed the pastrycook, whose faith in Seppi's honesty all at once vanished. "So, so; I'll make him feel it! To rob me! I, who gave him clothing and food! ah, if you only knew, madame, what I have