idele a sa demission_: you
know,--our Fidele got bounced!"

Yes, I said, Fidele had told me so, and I was very sorry to hear it.

"_Evidemment_" (this in a tone of irony) "_il faut un homme plus juste,
plus loyale, que le pauvre Fidele!_ (You know,--they got to 'ave one more
honester man!) _Bien!_ You know who goin' 'ave 'is place?"

I shook my head.

Sorel laid down his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Then
he went on, no longer speaking in French and then translating,--his
usual concession to my supposed desires,--but mostly now in
quasi-English: "_Mais_, you thing this great _gouvernement_ wan' hones'
men work for her, _n'est-ce pas?_"

"The government ought to have the most honest men," I said.

"_Bien_. Now you thing the _gouvernement_ boun' to 'ave some men w'at
mos' know the business, _n'est-ce pas?_"

"It ought to have them."

Sorel wiped his brow again. "Now, w'ich you thing the mos' honestes'
man,--Fidele, or-- _Carron?_ W'ich you thing know the business
bes',--Fidele, w'at been there, or Carron, w'at ain' been there?"

"Fidele, of course."

"Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our Fidele, and let Carron got 'is
place?" and he burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. In
a moment he resumed: "Now," he said, "I only got one more thing to ax
you," and taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his knees,
before him, and stooping a little forward, eyed me closely: "You know
w'at we talk sometimes, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh _republique_--some
_Orleanistes_, some _Legitimistes_, some _Bonapartistes?_ You merember
'ow we talk, you and me?"

I nodded,

"We ain' got no _Orleanistes_, no _Bonapartistes' ici_, in this
_gouvernement, n'est-ce pas?_"

I intimated that I had never met any.

"Now," he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his tone and his
hard smile, "I use' thing you one good frien' to me, _mais_, you been
makin' fool of me all that time!"

"You don't think any such thing," I said.

"You know," he went on, "who bounce our Fidele?"

"No."

Sorel received my reply with a low, incredulous laugh. Then he laid his
hat down on the floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger,
and, with the air of one who shows another that he knows his secret he
demanded:--

"_Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_"

I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not knowing just what to say.

"_Mais_," he went on, "all the _Americains_" (they were chiefly Irish)
"roun