again a little affair on hand like the one when you set
fire to your shop in the rue Saint-Victor?"

Derues recognised the hawker who had abused him on the threshold of
his shop some years previously, and whom he had never seen since. "Yes,
yes," she continued, "you had better look at me with your little round
cat's eyes. Are you going to say you don't know me?"

Derues appealed to his creditor. "You see," he said, "to what insults
you are exposing me. I do not know this woman who abuses me."

"What!--you don't know me! You who accused me of being a thief! But
luckily the Maniffets have been known in Paris as honest people for
generations, while as for you----"

"Sir," said Derues, "this case contains valuable wine which I am
commissioned to sell. To-morrow I shall receive the money for it;
to-morrow, in the course of the day, I will pay what I owe you. But I
am waited for now, do not in Heaven's name detain me longer, and thus
deprive me of the means of paying at all."

"Don't believe him, my good man," said the hawker; "lying comes natural
to him always."

"Sir, I promise on my oath you shall be paid tomorrow; you had better
trust the word of an honest man rather than the ravings of a drunken
woman."

The creditor still hesitated, but, another person now spoke in Derues'
favour; it was the carpenter Mouchy, who had inquired the cause of the
quarrel.

"For God's sake," he exclaimed, "let the gentleman go on. That chest
came from my workshop, and I know there is wine inside it; he told my
wife so two days ago."

"Will you be surety for me, my friend?" asked Derues.

"Certainly I will; I have not known you for ten years in order to
leave you in trouble and refuse to answer for you. What the devil are
respectable people to be stopped like this in a public place? Come, sir,
believe his word, as I do."

After some more discussion, the porter was at last allowed to proceed
with his hand-cart. The hawker wanted to interfere, but Mouchy warned
her off and ordered her to be silent. "Ah! ah!" she cried, "what does it
matter to me? Let him sell his wine if he can; I shall not drink any
on his premises. This is the second time he has found a surety to my
knowledge; the beggar must have some special secret for encouraging the
growth of fools. Good-bye, gossip Derues; you know I shall be selling
your history some day. Meanwhile----

"The abominable history of Leroi de Valine, condemned to death at the
age of sixteen