s, which, like
sponges, absorbed whatever they saw, but nothing revealed. At last his
right hand dropped softly to his vest pocket, as though it had some
interest in deceiving his left hand.

Apparently unconscious of the act, the right hand next slid over the
table edge, and silently deposited a five-franc piece upon the black
compartment.

"Whiz-z-z-z" started the ball from the fingers of the coupeurs--"click"
dropped the ball into a black department of the board; "clink! tingle!"
cried the money, changing hands; but not a word said Auburn Risque,
standing like a stalagmite with his eyes upon ten francs.

"Whiz-z-z!"--"click!" "click!" "tingle!"

Did he see the fifteen francs at all, half trance-like, half
corpse-like, as he stood, waiting for the third revolution, and waiting
again, and again, and again?

His five francs have grown to be a hundred; his cold hand falls
freezingly upon them; five francs replace the hundred he took
away--"Whizz!" goes the ball; "click!" stops the ball; the coupeur
seizes Mr. Risque's five francs, and Mr. Risque walks away like a
somnambulist.

V.

BURIED IN THE COMMON DITCH.

It would have been a strange scene for an American public, the street
corridor of the lofty house near the church of Saint Sulpice, on the
funeral afternoon.

The coffin lay upon a draped table, and festoons of crape threw phantom
shadows upon the soiled velvet covering. Each passing pedestrian and
cabman took off his hat a moment. The Southern Colony were in the
landlady's bureau enjoying a lunch and liquor, and precisely at three
o'clock they came down stairs, not more dilapidated than usual, while at
the same moment the municipal hearse drove up, attended by one _cocher_
and two _croquemorts_.[D]

[Footnote D: Literally, "parasites of death."]

The hearse was a cheap charity affair, furnished by the _Maire_ of the
_arrondissement_, though it was sprucely painted and decked with funeral
cloth. The driver wore a huge black chapeau, a white cotton cravat, and
thigh-boots, which, standing up stiffly as he sat, seemed to engulf him
to the ears.

When the _croquemorts_, in a business way, lifted the velvet from the
coffin, it was seen to be constructed of strips of deal merely,
unpainted, and not thicker than a Malaga raisin box.

There was some fear that it would fall apart of its own fragility, but
the chief _croquemort_ explained politely that such accidents never
happened.

"We have en