"That is good, little minette. Thou wilt pay me five sous for a fond lover."

"Citizen seër, I dreamed I was eating of a great egg."

"And thou shalt shortly beget a male child that shall bring thee honour."

"How now, old Jackalent!"

There rises a shrill cackle of laughter.

"Fi donc, Margot! On te le rendra de bonne heure!"

To submit the commerce of love to the test of a little dream-manual he carried about with him, that was Quatremains' system. This key (it was in manuscript) interpreted on a couple of hundred, or more, words, from Abel to Wounds; but affairs of the heart predominated through the whole alphabet of nonsense. He would coach himself continually from it in secret; but indeed a small wit and a trifle of invention were all that was needed. Now and again I would rally him on this petty taxing of credulity.

"How now!" he would answer. "Art thou not yet convinced?"

66

'By what, thou most surprising QuatremainsQuatrepattes?"

"For example, did I not foretell that Mère Grignon, whose husband was guillotined, would be brought to bed of a child with the mark of the lunette on its throat; and were not my words verified the same night?"

"But who knows that some one may not have

bribed the nurse to score the neck of the new-born

with whipcord?"

"Tête-bleu! Should I hold good my reputation and pay this nurse, think'st thou, out of five sous?"

But the rascal had other strings to his bow, all twanging to the same tune de folles amours-charms, fortune-telling, palmistry: so many lines under the thumb, so many children; a shorter first joint to the little than to its neighbour finger, the wife to rule the roast; a mole on the nose, success in intrigues; a mole on the breast, sincerity of affection. Then, too, he would tell nativities, cast horoscopes, quarter the planets for you like an orange or like the fruit of his imagination. There is a late picture of him often before me as he sat in the market-place of Essonnes, a little village that lies almost within view of the towers of Paris. A half-dozen blooming daughters of the Revolution stood about him, their hands under their aprons for warmth, for it was pretty late in November, and in fact the eve of St Catherine's feast.

"Now," said Quatremains, "there are seven of ye, and that is the sure number, for there must not be more than seven nor fewer than three; and be certain ye are quick to my directions." (He jingled softly in his fists the copper harvest of his gathering.) "Are all of ye virgins?" he cried. "If the charm fails, she who is not will be accountable to the others." (He scanned their hot faces

like a very Torquemada of the true faith.) "Tomorrow, then," he said, "let each wear inside her bosom all day a sprig of myrtle. At night, assemble together privately in a room, and, as the clock strikes eleven, take ye each your twig and fold it in tissue-paper, having first kindled charcoal in a chafing-dish. Thereonto throw nine hairs from the head, and a little moon-paring of every toe- and finger-nail, as also some frankincense, with the fragrant vapour arising from which ye shall fumigate each her packet. Now, go to your beds, and with the stroke of midnight compose yourselves to slumber, the envelope under the head, and, so ye have not failed to keep silence from first to last, each shall assuredly be made conversant in dream with her future husband."

Oh, wonderful nature of woman, thus, in a starving France, to throw sous into a pool for the sport of vanity!

Quatremains smuggled me into Paris, and there, for we had no further use of one another, our connection ceased. Thenceforwards I must live on my wits-other than those he had taxed-and on the little pieces of money that remained to me for feast-days. The struggle was a short one. I had not been a fortnight in the city when the blow that I had so long foreseen fell upon me. One day I was arrested and carried to La Force. haps, was as well; for my personal

That, perestate was

dwindled to a few livres, and I knew no rag-picker that would be likely to extend to me his patronage and protection.

Yet before this came about, I had one other strange little experience that shall be related.

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CHAPTER IX.

THE WILD DOGS.

It was on a night of middle Vendémiaire in the year two (to affect the whimsical jargon of the sans-culottes) that I issued from my burrow with an intrepidity that was nothing more nor less than a congestion of the sensibilities. Fear at that time having fed upon itself till all was devoured, was converted in very many to humorous stoicism that only lacked to be great because it could not boast a splendid isolation. "Suspect of being suspect "-Citizen Chaumette's last slash at the hamstrings of hope-had converted all men of humane character to that religion of self-containment that can alone spiritually exalt above the caprices of the emotions. Thousands, in a moment, through extreme of fear became fearless; hence no man of them could claim a signal inspiration of courage, but only that subscription to the terms of it which unnatural conditions had rendered necessary to all believers in the ultimate ethical triumph of the human race.