ll suit you. But we will talk about that as we sup.
Come now."

Behold the three--Jack, the pedler, and Madame Weber's little one, whose
new shoes clattered on the sidewalk famously--were soon hurrying along
the streets. Belisaire informed Jack that his sister was now a widow,
and that he had gone into business with her. Occasionally, in the full
tide of 'his history, he stopped to shout his old cry of "Hats! hats!
Hats to sell!" But before he reached his home, he was obliged to
lift into his arms Madame Weber's little boy, who had begun to weep
despairingly.

"Poor little fellow!" said Belisaire, "he is not in the habit of
walking. He rarely goes out, and it is merely that I may take him out
with me sometimes that I have had him measured for these new shoes. His
mother is away from home at work all day; she is a good, hard-working
woman, and has to leave her child to the care of a neighbor. Here we
are!"

They entered one of those large houses whose numerous windows are like
narrow slits in the walls. The doors open on the long corridors, which
serve as ante-rooms, where the poor people place their stoves and their
boxes. At this hour they were at dinner. Jack, as he passed, looked in
at the doors, which stood wide open.

"Good evening," said the pedler.

"Good evening," said the friendly voices from within.

In some rooms it was different: there was no fire, no light--a woman
and children watching for the father, who was at the wine-shop round the
corner.

The pedler's room was at the top of the house, and he seemed very proud
of it. "I am going to show you how well I am established, but you must
wait until I have taken this child to its mother." He looked under the
door of a room opposite his own, pulled out a key and unlocked it,
went directly to the stove where had simmered all day the soup for the
evening meal. He lighted a candle and fastened the child into a high
chair at the table, gave it a spoon and a saucepan to play with, and
then said, "Come away quickly; Madame Weber will be here in a minute,
and I wish to hear what she will say when she sees the child's new
shoes." He smiled as he opened his room--a long attic divided in two. A
pile of hats told his business, and the bare walls his poverty.

Belisaire lighted his lamp and arranged his dinner, which consisted of
a fine salad of potatoes and salt herring. He took from a closet two
plates, bread and wine, and placed them on a little table. "Now,"