clipped like a lion, with hairy ruffles
on his four paws, and a white mustache like a general of the Gymnase.

"Mamma," said the giant, in a tone of ineffable tenderness, "here is
your coffee. I am sure that you will find it nice to-night. The water
was boiling well, and I poured it on drop by drop."

"Thank you," said the old lady, rolling her easy-chair to the table with
an air; "thank you, my little Achille. Your dear father said many a time
that there was not my equal at making coffee--he was so kind and
indulgent, the dear, good man--but I begin to believe that you are even
better than I."

At that moment, and while Meurtrier was pouring out the coffee with all
the delicacy of a young girl, the poodle, excited no doubt by the
uncovered sugar, placed his forepaws on the lap of his mistress.

"Down, Medor," she cried, with a benevolent indignation. "Did any one
ever see such a troublesome animal? Look here, sir! you know very well
that your master never fails to give you the last of his cup.
By-the-way," added the widow, addressing her son, "you have taken the
poor fellow out, have you not?"

[Illustration]

"Certainly, mamma," he replied, in a tone that was almost infantile. "I
have just been to the creamery for your morning milk, and I put the
leash and collar on Medor and took him with me."

"And he has attended to all his little wants?"

"Don't be disturbed. He doesn't want anything."

Reassured on this point, important to canine hygiene, the good dame
drank her coffee, between her son and her dog, who each regarded her
with an inexpressible tenderness.

It was assuredly unnecessary to see or hear more. I had already descried
what a peaceful family life--upright, pure, and devoted--my friend
Meurtrier hid under his chimerical gasconades. But the spectacle with
which chance had favored me was at once so droll and so touching that I
could not resist the temptation to watch for some moments longer. That
indiscretion sufficed to show me the whole truth.

Yes, this type of roisterers, who seemed to have stepped from one of the
romances of Paul de Kock--this athlete, this despot of bar-rooms and
public-houses--performed simply and courageously, in these lowly rooms
in the suburbs, the sublime duties of a sister of charity. This intrepid
oarsman had never made a longer voyage than to conduct his mother to
mass or vespers every Sunday. This billiard expert knew only how to play
bezique. This trainer of bull