d his back.

"No," he said.

"Give it me for the fire; the soup'll be better."

"Do you think I brought it for the soup? I've only made thirty-six sous
to-day and I thought this bit of wood might save me a beating. It's to
make up for the four sous I'm short."

"You'll have to pay. Each in his turn."

Mattia said this mechanically, as though the thought of the boy being
punished gave him satisfaction. I was surprised to see a hard look come
into his soft, sad eyes. I knew later that if you live with wicked
people you get to be like them in time.

One by one the boys returned; each one as he came in hung his instrument
on a nail above his bed. Those who were not musicians, but simply
exhibitors of trained animals, put their mice and guinea pigs into a
cage.

Then a heavy step sounded on the stairs and a little man wearing a gray
overcoat came into the room. It was Garofoli. The moment he entered he
fixed his eyes on me with a look that scared me. Mattia quickly and
politely gave him Vitalis' message.

"Ah, so Vitalis is here," he said; "what does he want?"

"I don't know," replied Mattia.

"I'm not speaking to you, I'm speaking to this boy."

"He is coming back and he will tell you himself what he wants," I
replied.

"Ah, here's a little fellow who knows the value of words. You're not
Italian?"

"No, I'm French."

The moment Garofoli entered the room two small boys took their places,
one on each side of him, and were waiting until he had finished
speaking. Then one took his felt hat and placed it carefully on the bed,
and the other brought forward a chair. They did this with the same
gravity and respect that a choir boy waits upon a priest. When Garofoli
was seated another little boy brought him a pipe stuffed with tobacco,
and a fourth offered him a lighted match.

"It smells of sulphur, animal," he cried, throwing it in the grate.

The culprit hastened to repair his mistake; lighting another match he
let it burn for a time before offering it to his master. But Garofoli
would not accept it.

"No, you imbecile," he said, pushing the boy aside roughly. Then he
turned to another child and said with an ingratiating smile:

"Ricardo, dearie, bring a match."

The "dearie" hastened to obey.

"Now," said Garofoli, when he was comfortably installed and his pipe
burning; "now to business, my little angels. Bring the book, Mattia."

Garofoli made a sign to the boy who had lit the first match.

"You ow