hich he had been
bonneted.

"He kicks,--that's a beautiful symptom! He comes to!" exclaimed the
porteress, who, stooping down, bawled in his ears, "What's the matter
with my Alfred? It's his 'Stasie who is with him. How goes it now?
There's some absinthe coming, that will set you up." Then, assuming a
falsetto voice of much endearment, she added: "What, did they abuse and
assassinate him,--the dear old darling, the delight of his 'Stasie, eh?"

Alfred heaved an immense sigh, and, with a mighty groan, uttered the
fatal word:

"Cabrion!"

And his tremulous hands again seemed desirous of repulsing the fearful
vision.

"Cabrion! What, that cussed painter again?" exclaimed Madame Pipelet.
"Alfred dreamed of him all night long, so that he kicked me almost to
death. This monster is his nightmare; not only does he poison his days,
but he poisons his nights also,--he pursues him in his very sleep; yes,
sir, as though Alfred was a malefactor, and this Cabrion, whom may
Heaven confound! was his unceasing remorse."

Rodolph smiled, discreetly detecting some new freak of Rigolette's
former neighbour.

"Alfred! answer me; don't remain mute, you frighten me," said Madame
Pipelet; "let's try and get you up. Why, lovey, do you keep thinking of
that vagabond fellow? You know that, when you think of that fellow, it
has the same effect on you that cabbage has,--it fills up your pylorus
and stifles you."

"Cabrion!" repeated M. Pipelet, pushing up, with an effort, the hat
which had fallen so low over his eyes, which he rolled around him with
an affrighted air.

Rigolette entered, carrying a small bottle of absinthe.

"Thankee, ma'amselle, you are so kind!" said the old body; and then she
added, "Come, deary, suck this down, that will make you all right."

And Anastasie, presenting the phial quickly to M. Pipelet's lips,
contrived to make him swallow the absinthe. In vain did Alfred struggle
vigorously. His wife, taking advantage of the victim's weakness, held up
his head firmly with one hand, whilst with the other she introduced the
neck of the little bottle between his teeth, and compelled him to
swallow the absinthe, after which she exclaimed, triumphantly:

"Ther-r-r-r-e, now-w-w! you're on your pins again, my ducky!"

And Alfred, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opened his
eyes, rose, and inquired, in accents of alarm:

"Have you seen him?"

"Who?"

"Is he gone?"

"Who, Alfred?"

"_Cabrion!_"