he song proved the
serenity of his heart, on arriving opposite the passage he began to
cough, which, as we know, in the gamut of terror, indicates a greater
degree of fear than singing. Seeing, however, that nothing moved round
him, he took courage, and, in a voice more in harmony with his present
situation than with the sense of the words, he began--

"Then let me go,"

but there he stopped short, not only in his song, but in his walk; for,
having perceived two men standing in a doorway, he felt his voice and
his legs fail him at once, and he drew up, motionless and silent.
Unfortunately, at this moment a shadow approached the window. The
coalheaver saw that a cry might lose all, and moved, as if to spring on
the passenger; his companion held him back.

"Captain," said he, "do not hurt this man;" and then, approaching
him--"Pass on, my friend," said he, "but pass quickly, and do not look
back."

The singer did not wait to be told twice, but made off as fast as his
little legs and his trembling condition allowed, so that in a few
minutes, he had disappeared at the corner of the Hotel de Toulouse.

"'Twas time," murmured the coalheaver; "they are opening the window."

The two men drew back as far as possible into the shade. The window was
opened, and one of the light horse appeared on the balcony.

"Well?" said a voice, which the coalheaver and his companion recognized
as that of the regent, from the interior of the room. "Well, Simiane,
what kind of weather is it?"

"Oh!" replied Simiane, "I think it snows."

"You think it snows?"

"Or rains, I do not know which," continued Simiane.

"What!" said Ravanne, "can you not tell what is falling?" and he also
came on to the balcony.

"After all," said Simiane, "I am not sure that anything is falling."

"He is dead drunk," said the regent.

"I!" said Simiane, wounded in his amour propre as a toper, "I dead
drunk! Come here, monseigneur, come."

Though the invitation was given in a strange manner, the regent joined
his companions, laughing. By his gait it was easy to see that he himself
was more than warmed.

"Ah! dead drunk," replied Simiane, holding out his hand to the prince;
"well, I bet you a hundred louis that, regent of France as you are, you
will not do what I do."

"You hear, monseigneur," said a female voice from the room; "it is a
challenge."

"And as such I accept it."

"Done, for a hundred louis."

"I go halves with whoever likes," sai