anged 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,