her
world,--such a lightness has come over me. A little while ago my hat
used to seem as though loaded with lead, and as if it pressed forwards
in spite of me; now I seem as though borne on the breeze towards the
firmament, to think that he is gone--actually set out--and never to
return!"

"Yes, the blackguard is off at last!" chimed in Madame Pipelet.

"Anastasie," cried her husband, "spare the absent! Happiness calls for
mercy and forbearance on our parts. I will obey its dictates, and merely
allow myself to remark that Cabrion was a--a--worthless scoundrel!"

"But how do you know that he has gone to Germany?" inquired Rigolette.

"By a friend of our 'king of lodgers.' Talking of that dear man, you
haven't heard that, owing to the handsome manner in which he recommended
us, Alfred has been appointed house-porter to a sort of charitable bank,
established in our house by a worthy Christian, who wishes, like M.
Rodolph, to do all the good he can?"

"Ah!" replied Rigolette. "And, perhaps, you don't know, either, that my
dear Germain is appointed manager of this same bank? All owing to the
kind intervention of M. Rodolph."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Madame Pipelet, "all our good luck comes
together; and I'm sure I'm heartily glad we shall keep old friends and
acquaintances around us. I hate fresh faces, for my part. I'm certain I
would not change my old duck of a husband even for your young handsome
one, Madame Germain.

"But to go back to Cabrion. Only imagine a bald-headed, stout, elderly
gentleman, coming to tell us of Alfred's new situation, and at the same
time inquiring if a talented artist of the name of Cabrion did not once
lodge in the house with us. Oh, my poor darling! Directly Cabrion's name
was mentioned down went the boot he was mending, and if I had not
caught him he would have swooned away. But, fortunately, the bald
gentleman added, 'This young painter has been engaged by a very wealthy
person to do some work, which will occupy him for years, and he may,
very probably, establish himself in another country.' In confirmation of
which the old gentleman gave my Alfred the date of Cabrion's departure,
with the address of the office from which he started."

"And I had the unhoped-for satisfaction of reading on the ticket, 'M.
Cabrion, artist in painting, departs for Strasburg, and further, by the
company's diligence.' The hour named was for this morning. I need not
say I was in the inn yard with my wif