s, a shed with an inscription above it in letters
twelve inches high: THE ROYAL HUMANE SOCIETY'S APPARATUS.

A vision of M. Dacheux rose before him, equipped by his philanthropy,
calling out and setting in motion the too efficacious oars which break
the heads of drowning men, if unluckily they should rise to the surface;
he saw a curious crowd collecting, running for a doctor, preparing
fumigations, he read the maundering paragraph in the papers, put between
notes on a festivity and on the smiles of a ballet-dancer; he heard
the francs counted down by the prefect of police to the watermen. As a
corpse, he was worth fifteen francs; but now while he lived he was only
a man of talent without patrons, without friends, without a mattress
to lie on, or any one to speak a word for him--a perfect social cipher,
useless to a State which gave itself no trouble about him.

A death in broad daylight seemed degrading to him; he made up his mind
to die at night so as to bequeath an unrecognizable corpse to a world
which had disregarded the greatness of life. He began his wanderings
again, turning towards the Quai Voltaire, imitating the lagging gait of
an idler seeking to kill time. As he came down the steps at the end of
the bridge, his notice was attracted by the second-hand books displayed
on the parapet, and he was on the point of bargaining for some. He
smiled, thrust his hands philosophically into his pockets, and fell to
strolling on again with a proud disdain in his manner, when he heard to
his surprise some coin rattling fantastically in his pocket.

A smile of hope lit his face, and slid from his lips over his features,
over his brow, and brought a joyful light to his eyes and his dark
cheeks. It was a spark of happiness like one of the red dots that flit
over the remains of a burnt scrap of paper; but as it is with the black
ashes, so it was with his face, it became dull again when the stranger
quickly drew out his hand and perceived three pennies. "Ah, kind
gentleman! _carita_, _carita_; for the love of St. Catherine! only a
halfpenny to buy some bread!"

A little chimney sweeper, with puffed cheeks, all black with soot, and
clad in tatters, held out his hand to beg for the man's last pence.

Two paces from the little Savoyard stood an old _pauvre honteux_, sickly
and feeble, in wretched garments of ragged druggeting, who asked in a
thick, muffled voice:

"Anything you like to give, monsieur; I will pray to God for y