ou are idle sometimes, you rascal?"

"Yes, as long as I have money, though I do not waste it. First, I pay
ten sous for my night's lodging."

"Your pardon, monseigneur; you sleep, then, at ten sous, do you?" said
the Chourineur, raising his hand to his cap.

The word monseigneur, spoken ironically by the Chourineur, caused an
almost imperceptible smile on the lips of Rodolph, who replied, "Oh, I
like to be clean and comfortable."

"Here's a peer of the realm for you! a man with mines of wealth!"
exclaimed the Chourineur; "he pays ten sous for his bed!"

"Well, then," continued Rodolph, "four sous for tobacco; that makes
fourteen sous; four sous for breakfast, eighteen; fifteen sous for
dinner; one or two sous for brandy; that all comes to about thirty-four
or thirty-five sous a day. I have no occasion to work all the week, and
so the rest of the time I amuse myself."

"And your family?" said the Goualeuse.

"Dead," replied Rodolph.

"Who were your friends?" asked the Goualeuse.

"Dealers in old clothes and marine stores under the pillars of the
market-place."

"How did you spend what they left you?" inquired the Chourineur.

"I was very young, and my guardian sold the stock; and, when I came of
age, he brought me in his debtor for thirty francs; that was my
inheritance."

"And who is now your employer?" the Chourineur demanded.

"His name is Gauthier, in the Rue des Bourdonnais, a
beast--brute--thief--miser! He would almost as soon lose the sight of an
eye as pay his workmen. Now this is as true a description as I can give
you of him; so let's have done with him. I learned my trade under him
from the time when I was fifteen years of age; I have a good number in
the Conscription, and my name is Rodolph Durand. My history is told."

"Now it's your turn, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur; "I keep my history
till last, as a _bonne bouche_."

CHAPTER III.

HISTORY OF LA GOUALEUSE.

"Let us begin at the beginning," said the Chourineur.

"Yes; your parents?" added Rodolph.

"I never knew them," said Fleur-de-Marie.

"The deuce!" said the Chourineur. "Well, that is odd, Goualeuse! you and
I are of the same family."

"What! you, too, Chourineur?"

"An orphan of the streets of Paris like you, my girl."

"Then who brought you up, Goualeuse?" asked Rodolph.

"I don't know, sir. As far back as I can remember--I was, I think, about
six or seven years old--I was with an old one-eyed woman, whom the