But no--not he! All along the Boulevards, wherever a
blank spot remained or a place could be found to hold the words, had he
written 'Pipelet and Cabrion!'--sometimes adding, 'till death!' At last
my poor dear man arrived at the house of the landlord, but so bewildered
and stupefied that, after hammering and stammering and bodgering about
without being able to utter a clear sentence, the landlord, having tried
for nearly half an hour to bring him sufficiently to his senses to say
what had made him come to his house, got quite in a passion, and called
him a stupid old fool, and told him to go home and send his wife or
somebody who could speak common sense. Well, poor dear Alfred left as he
was ordered, thinking, at any rate, he would return by a different road,
so as to escape those dreadful words that had so overcome him going. Do
you believe he could get rid of them, though? No; there they were, large
as life, scrawled upon every place, and united by the lover's band as
before."

"What, Pipelet and Cabrion still written along the walls?"

"Precisely so, my king of lodgers. The end of it was that my poor
darling came home to me regularly brain-struck, talked in the wildest
and most desperate way of leaving France, exiling himself for ever, and
no one knows what. Well, I persuaded him to tell me all that had
happened; then I did my best to quiet him, and persuade him not to
worry himself about such a beggar as that Cabrion; and when I found he
had grown a little calmer, I left him, and went to take Cecily to the
notary's, before I proceeded on to the landlord to finish poor Alfred's
message. Now, perhaps, you think I've done? But I haven't, though. No; I
had hardly quitted the place, than that abominable Cabrion, who must
have watched me out, sent a couple of impudent great creatures, who
pursued Alfred with the most determined villainy. Oh, bless you, it
makes my very hair stand on end when I think of it! I'll tell you all
about their proceedings another time; let me first finish about the
notary. Well, off I started with Cecily in a hackney-coach,--as you told
me to do, you know. She was dressed in her pretty costume of a German
peasant; for having only just arrived, she had not had time to procure
any other, which I was to explain to M. Ferrand, and beg of him to
excuse. You may believe me or not, just as you please, my king of
lodgers, but though I have seen some pretty girls in my time,--myself,
for instance,--yet