at cursed old brute, with her poor
little foot all bloody!"

"We lived in a garret in the Rue de la Montellerie; beside the entrance
to our alley there was a dram-shop, and there the Chouette went in,
still dragging me by the hand. She then had a half pint of brandy at the
bar."

"The deuce! Why, I could not drink that without being quite fuddled!"

"It was her usual quantity; perhaps that was the reason why she beat me
of an evening. Well, at last we got up into our cock-loft; the Chouette
double-locked the door; I threw myself on my knees, and asked her pardon
for having eaten the barley-sugar. She did not answer me, but I heard
her mumbling to herself, as she walked about the room, 'What shall I do
this evening to this little thief, who has eaten all that barley-sugar?
Ah, I see!' And she looked at me maliciously with her one green eye. I
was still on my knees, when she suddenly went to a shelf and took down a
pair of pincers."

"Pincers!" exclaimed the Chourineur.

"Yes, pincers."

"What for?"

"To strike you?" inquired Rodolph.

"To pinch you?" said the Chourineur.

"No, no," answered the poor girl, trembling at the very recollection.

"To pull out your hair?"

"No; to take out one of my teeth."

The Chourineur uttered a blasphemous oath, accompanied with such furious
imprecations that all the guests in the _tapis-franc_ looked at him with
astonishment.

"Why, what is the matter with you?" asked Rodolph.

"The matter! the matter! I'll skin her alive, that infernal old hag, if
I can catch her! Where is she? Tell me, where is she? Let me find her,
and I'll throttle the old--"

"And did she really take out your tooth, my poor child,--that wretched
monster in woman's shape?" demanded Rodolph, whilst the Chourineur was
venting his rage in a volley of the most violent reproaches.

"Yes, sir; but not at the first pull. How I suffered! She held me with
my head between her knees, where she held it as if in a vice. Then, half
with her pincers, half with her fingers, she pulled out my tooth, and
then said, 'Now I will pull out one every day, Pegriotte; and when you
have not a tooth left I will throw you into the river, and the fish
shall eat you.'"

"The old devil! To break and pull out a poor child's teeth in that way!"
exclaimed the Chourineur, with redoubled fury.

"And how did you escape her then?" inquired Rodolph of the Goualeuse.

"Next day, instead of going to Montfaucon, I went on the side of