sure enough.

"Take a chair, sir," says I; and down he sits; and I began to chaff him,
as well as I could, about the weather, my illness, my sad axdent, having
lost one of my hands, which was stuck into my busum, and so on.

At last, after a minnit or two, I could contane no longer, and bust out
in a horse laff.

The old fellow turned quite pail, and began to suspect somethink.
"Hola!" says he; "gendarmes! a moi! a moi! Je suis floue, vole," which
means, in English, that he was reglar sold.

The jondarmes jumped into the room, and so did Toinette and the
waiter. Grasefly rising from my arm-chare, I took my hand from my
dressing-gownd, and, flinging it open, stuck up on the chair one of the
neatest legs ever seen.

I then pinted majestickly--to what do you think?--to my PLUSH TITES!
those sellabrated inigspressables which have rendered me famous in
Yourope.

Taking the hint, the jondarmes and the servnts rord out laffing; and
so did Charles Yellowplush, Esquire, I can tell you. Old Grippard the
bailiff looked as if he would faint in his chare.

I heard a kab galloping like mad out of the hotel-gate, and knew then
that my master was safe.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE END OF MR. DEUCEACE'S HISTORY. LIMBO.

My tail is droring rabidly to a close; my suvvice with Mr. Deuceace
didn't continyou very long after the last chapter, in which I described
my admiral strattyjam, and my singlar self-devocean. There's very few
servnts, I can tell you, who'd have thought of such a contrivance, and
very few moar would have eggsycuted it when thought of.

But, after all, beyond the trifling advantich to myself in selling
master's roab de sham, which you, gentle reader, may remember I woar,
and in dixcovering a fipun note in one of the pockets,--beyond this,
I say, there was to poar master very little advantich in what had been
done. It's true he had escaped. Very good. But Frans is not like Great
Brittin; a man in a livry coat, with 1 arm, is pretty easily known, and
caught, too, as I can tell you.

Such was the case with master. He coodn leave Paris, moarover, if he
would. What was to become, in that case, of his bride--his unchbacked
hairis? He knew that young lady's temprimong (as the Parishers say) too
well to let her long out of his site. She had nine thousand a yer.
She'd been in love a duzn times befor, and mite be agin. The Honrabble
Algernon Deuceace was a little too wide awake to trust much to the
constnsy of so very