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time his room seemed to him bare and miserable. The curtains looked dirty, the grate was full of cigar-ends, and the dust was so thick everywhere that one might have written one’s nameinit. It was evident that he required a servant, and then he remembered the little girl Going out, he met the mistress of the house, and asked her whether the child could sew and make soup. ‘Of course,” she replied, “she learnt that long ago. If you want a servant, and will undertake to feed and lodge her, I will give her up to you.” “Very well, I will take her,” said the captain. But the good man soon found that this luxury cost him more money than he expected. He gave up his morning absinthe and his dear cigars in order that Pierrette might have à small room beside his. In her turn she showed her gratitude by keeping the furniture clean, sweeping away the spiders webs, and making excellent soup. Many a time the captain had a hard struggle to keep away from the café, but he succeeded in doing so through his love for Pierrette. In fact she was no longer a servant. One day he exclaimed suddenly: “ Pierrette, I can stand it no longer; you must kiss me and call me ‘thou ” The captain has long since given up his three vices, and when he dies Pierrette will not be penniless.

He was a child of ten, and he had been arrested for vagrancy. He told the judges that his name was Leturc, and that for six months he had been with a rnan who sang in the streets. His mother, who had been a laundress, was dead, and he wanted to know now whether they were going to put him in prison. He was only a little street boy in rags, and, as no one claimed him, he was sent to the ‘ Jeunes Détenus.” Although he was idle and clumsy, he was the most obedient child they had ever had. But when he was seventeen, he found himself free again to prowl about the streets and to associate himself with the worst

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characters in Paris. JIn a few months he was condemned to à years imprisonment for theft, and during the year which he spent in Sainte-Pélagie he lived with the strangest Companions he had ever met. They were all politicians, Or pretended to be, and little Leturc did not understand half of what they said. When his time Was up, he found himself again in the Streets, and watched by the police, although he did not suspect it. He was like one of those cockchafers which boys tie to the end of a thread and make to fly about as if they were free. Everything was against him. By drawing a good number he escaped military service. He would have done better if he had drawn a bad one; that might have saved him.

in the harbour at Toulon

or two on the river at Ve As he wandered about the streets one day, he found himself in Montmartre before the school where he had been taught to read. He stood watching the boys at play in the court, and for the fir:t time he recalled the happy days he had spent there. He doubted very much whether he could ever become again what he was in his childhood, but he said to himself: « Perhaps it is not too late, after all: I will get work as à mason's assistant, I only want three francs a day, and, provided the police forget me, I shall be happy.” Six months later he Was a different man; he worked hard, he slept well, he was free, and what was more, he had a friend. His friend’s name was Savinien, and Leturc liked him because he possessed all the qualities which he had lost years before. On the other hand, Savinien was not Sorry to find a comrade who shunned the wine-sellers and

who had the same tastes as himself. Being a peasant he was able to teach Leturc many details he was ignorant of. The latter was almost astonished to find that such things as sowing-time, harvest, and vintage existed in the world.

Meanwhile Leturc was haunted by the fear lest his friend should discover the story of his past. Besides, Savinien’s unexpected behaviour soon gave him a good deal of anxiety. To Leturc’s regret he began to change his habits entirely ; he would spend money more freely, and then he would borrow a few francs from him and forget to pay them back. In order to lessen the cost of their lodging, they had been obliged to admit a third comrade, an old man, into their little room. One evening Leturc heard voices in their room ; he listened attentively on the landing. It was the old man complaining to the lodging-house keeper that he had been robbed of three louis which he had put in his box. “It must be the servant, or Savinien,” he was saying, “unless it is Leturc who has stolen them, which I do not believe. (Come along, let us search the trunks!” They began the search. In a few minutes Leturc heard the old man exclaim: “ Here they are in the waistcoat pocket of that Savinien !” At that moment Savinien began to mount the stairs Without the slightest hesitation Leturc entered the room and said it was he who had taken the louis and put them in Savinien’s trunk. Let them run and fetch the police. When Savinien saw what had happened, he thought he was los. But Leturc whispered to him that he had taken the matter on his own shoulders. They embraced and said goodbye to one another. Leturc’s sentence was penal servitude for life.

M. Matoussaint, the retired ironmonger, was very angry when his servant Caroline told him that she was going to

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be married in a few deys. For an old bachelor of fiftyfive this was a great disappointment. He had retired from business some ten years before, and with an income of about 15,000 francs he was well satisfied with himself. As for Caroline, she was an excellent cook, and had been living with him for Many years. However, he could not prevent the girl from marrying the locksmith, so he merely said to her: “My child, you are a fool to marry this man ; [have known him by sight for two or three years ; he may be a drunkard and he may beat you.” Then the old fellow gave her a wedding-dress, A year later Caroline came to see him, carrying her baby proudly in her arms. “We have called him Vincent,” she said, “and isn't he à fine child? It would give my husband and me great pleasure, sir, if you would be Vincent’s godfather.” “ Willingly,” replied M. Matoussaint ; “when are you going to baptize him?” «Next Sunday week, sir, at half-past twelve at St. Pauls. My husband's mother is going to be his godmother.” The baptism duly took place, and after the ceremony M. Matoussaint gave the guests a fine luncheon, with plenty of sandwiches and sweets, and as much cham- Pagne as they could drink.

Little by little the retired ironmonger discovered that the baby was less ugly than he had thought when he first Sawit. “Why, I must have been like that myself once,” said he; “]I had a mother who must have held me on her knees and kissed me just as Caroline does with her baby ! ” He was always Calling at Caroline’s house to ask after his godson, and he seldom went to the café where he used to be so fond of playing billiards and making magnificent Cannons. One day, however, the child fell ill ; its skin was red and it coughed violently, and they feared lest it would have croup. M. Matoussaint asked to go up and see it, but the doctor would not allow him. That evening he

asked one of his friends at the café if children were ever cured of croup. “ Why, yes !” he replied ; “my little girl had it, and we feared she would die, but in the end we saved her.” You may imagine M. Matoussaint’s jey the day when the doctor declared Vincent cured. He invited the whole family to luncheon, made Vincent sit beside him, and acted like a mother. “ You will spoil baby, if you go on like that,” said the father. “ Do you think so ? ” said M. Matoussaint ; “well, I have the right to do so, I am his godfather.

John Vidal was a late non-commissioned officer, who had lo:t his left arm in Italy at Melegnano. He was only forty, and yet we all calied him old Vidal. As I lived in his neighbourhood I saw him pretty often, and I used to make him tell me about his campaigns, One evening we were walking along the Boulevard de Grenelle, when he suddenly saw in a window something which interested him. It was an old officers tunic with a little round hole in the back, and I ventured to ask old Vidal how an officer of -ouaves could receive a bullet in his back. But he was talki:1g to himself: how could that uniform have come there? %e must have seen it and recognised it! At last he turned to me and told me the story. “But before I begin,” said he, ‘you must swear to say nothing about it to any one. La-Soif was a sergeant in the 2nd zouaves ; he was a fine soldier, but a terrible drunkard. He would have been an officer long ago, if he had not been so fond of drinking. Several times his strines were taken away, but each time, thanks to the kindness of his officers, he recovered them. By mischance a young captain, named Gentile, was sent to us ; he was ambitious and enterprising, but the most exacting officer we had ever had. The moment he arrived he took a dislike to La-Soif. The first time the latter got drunk, Gentile gave him a fortnight’s confinement. He would have softened a little if he had seen the anger in La-Soif’s face.

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Italians. That night La-Soif, who was very drunk, insulted an Italian girl and was brought before the captain. The latter told La-Soif that such wretches as he ought to be shot, and recommended him to get himself killed in the battle the following day. The fight had begun ; La-Soif and l'were lying with the others in a corn-field, while Gentile and the officers were Standing in front of us. Before 1 could stop him, La-Soif cocked his gun and fired, and 1 Saw Gentile drop his sword and fall heavily. « Coward ! ‘ I hissed. ‘Oh he replied coolly, ‘how can you prove that I killedhim?? At that moment we received orders to charge the Austrian battery ; we took it, and La-Soif, the assassin, having Captured an Austrian flag, presented it to the colonel after the Charge. He received the cross, and I

have never seen him since. It was my duty to denounce him, but, you see, Î had no proofs” A few days later I

met Vidal, who handed me a neWwSpaper. “Read that,” said he. This is what I read :—(f Yesterday morning a Sérgeant of zouaves, called La-Soif, suddenly had a fit of delirium as he was looking at some old uniforms in a shopwindow in the Boulevard de Grenelle. The doctors fear he will lose his reason for ever.” “Ah!” said Vidal, “at last Captain Gentile has avenged himself ! ”