net. Some
of the inmates of the "Lions' Den" were watching the operations of
the prisoner's toilet with considerable interest. "See, the prince is
pluming himself," said one of the thieves. "He's a fine looking fellow,"
said another; "if he had only a comb and hair-grease, he'd take the
shine off the gentlemen in white kids."

"His coat looks almost new, and his boots shine like a nigger's face.
It's pleasant to have such well-dressed comrades; but didn't those
gendarmes behave shameful?--must 'a been jealous, to tear such clothes!"

"He looks like a big-bug," said another; "dresses in fine style. And,
then, to be here so young! Oh, what larks!" Meanwhile the object of
this hideous admiration approached the wicket, against which one of the
keepers was leaning. "Come, sir," he said, "lend me twenty francs; you
will soon be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have relations
who possess more millions than you have deniers. Come, I beseech
you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may buy a dressing-gown; it is
intolerable always to be in a coat and boots! And what a coat, sir, for
a prince of the Cavalcanti!" The keeper turned his back, and shrugged
his shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused any one
else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same things,--indeed, he
heard nothing else.

"Come," said Andrea, "you are a man void of compassion; I'll have you
turned out." This made the keeper turn around, and he burst into a loud
laugh. The prisoners then approached and formed a circle. "I tell you
that with that wretched sum," continued Andrea, "I could obtain a
coat, and a room in which to receive the illustrious visitor I am daily
expecting."

"Of course--of course," said the prisoners;--"any one can see he's a
gentleman!"

"Well, then, lend him the twenty francs," said the keeper, leaning on
the other shoulder; "surely you will not refuse a comrade!"

"I am no comrade of these people," said the young man, proudly, "you
have no right to insult me thus."

The thieves looked at one another with low murmurs, and a storm gathered
over the head of the aristocratic prisoner, raised less by his own
words than by the manner of the keeper. The latter, sure of quelling
the tempest when the waves became too violent, allowed them to rise to
a certain pitch that he might be revenged on the importunate Andrea,
and besides it would afford him some recreation during the long day. The
thieves had already