on the subject of her prospective masters. And
then, "Do you know M. Vincent Favoral?" he would ask.

Concierges and shop-keepers knew no one better; for it was more than
a quarter of a century before, that M. Vincent Favoral, the day after
his wedding, had come to settle in the Rue St. Gilles; and there
his two children were born,--his son M. Maxence, his daughter Mlle.
Gilberte.

He occupied the second story of the house. No. 38,--one of those
old-fashioned dwellings, such as they build no more, since ground is
sold at twelve hundred francs the square metre; in which there is no
stinting of space. The stairs, with wrought iron balusters, are wide
and easy, and the ceilings twelve feet high.

"Of course, we know M. Favoral," answered every one to the servant's
questions; "and, if there ever was an honest man, why, he is
certainly the one. There is a man whom you could trust with your
funds, if you had any, without fear of his ever running off to
Belgium with them." And it was further explained, that M. Favoral
was chief cashier, and probably, also, one of the principal
stockholders, of the Mutual Credit Society, one of those admirable
financial institutions which have sprung up with the second empire,
and which had won at the bourse the first installment of their
capital, the very day that the game of the Coup d'Etat was being
played in the street.

"I know well enough the gentleman's business," remarked the servant;
"but what sort of a man is he? That's what my cousin would like to
know."

The wine-man at No. 43, the oldest shop-keeper in the street, could
best answer. A couple of petits-verres politely offered soon started
his tongue; and, whilst sipping his Cognac:

"M. Vincent Favoral," he began, "is a man some fifty-two or three
years old, but who looks younger, not having a single gray hair. He
is tall and thin, with neatly-trimmed whiskers, thin lips, and small
yellow eyes; not talkative. It takes more ceremony to get a word
from his throat than a dollar from his pocket. 'Yes,' 'no,'
'good-morning,' 'good-evening;' that's about the extent of his
conversation. Summer and winter, he wears gray pantaloons, a long
frock-coat, laced shoes, and lisle-thread gloves. 'Pon my word, I
should say that he is still wearing the very same clothes I saw upon
his back for the first time in 1845, did I not know that he has two
full suits made every year by the concierge at No. 29, who is also a
tailor."