e felt
that the poor fellow who had remained honest in the midst of the most
cruel privations was to be respected twofold, since the punishment of
the crime became a certain resource for him. Rodolph held out his hand
to this ill-used savage of civilisation, whom misery had been unable
wholly to corrupt. The Chourineur looked at his host in
astonishment,--almost with respect; he hardly dared to touch the hand
tendered to him. He felt impressed with some vague idea that there was a
wide abyss between Rodolph and himself.

"'Tis well," said Rodolph to him, "you have heart and honour."

"Heart? honour? what, I? Come, now, don't chaff me," he replied, with
surprise.

"To suffer misery and hunger rather than steal, is to have heart and
honour," said Rodolph, gravely.

"Well, it may be," said the Chourineur, as if thinking, "it may be so."

"Does it astonish you?"

"It really does; for people don't usually say such things to me; they
generally treat me as they would a mangy dog. It's odd, though, the
effect what you say has on me. Heart! honour!" he repeated, with an air
which was actually pensive.

"Well, what ails you?"

"I' faith, I don't know," replied the Chourineur, in a tone of emotion;
"but these words, do you see, they quite make my heart beat; and I feel
more flattered than if any one told me I was a 'better man' than either
the Skeleton or the Schoolmaster. I never felt anything like it before.
Be sure, though, that these words, and the blows of the fist at the end
of my tussle,--you did lay 'em on like a good 'un,--not alluding to what
you pay for the supper, and the words you have said--in a word," he
exclaimed, bluntly, as if he could not find language to express his
thoughts, "make sure that in life or death you may depend on the
Chourineur."

Rodolph, unwilling to betray his emotion, replied in a tone as calm as
he could assume, "How long did you go on as an amateur knacker?"

"Why, at first, I was quite sick of cutting up old worn-out horses, who
could not even kick; but when I was about sixteen, and my voice began to
get rough, it became a passion--a taste--a relish--a rage--with me to
cut and slash. I did not care for anything but that; not even eating and
drinking. You should have seen me in the middle of my work! Except an
old pair of woollen trousers, I was quite naked. When, with my large and
well-whetted knife in my hand, I had about me fifteen or twenty horses
waiting their turn, by Jupit