rry." And Rodin again advanced towards the stairs.

"M. Rodin," said Rose-Pompon, in a solemn voice, "I have very important
things to say to you, and advice to ask about a love affair."

"Why, little madcap that you are! have you nobody to tease in your own
house, that you must come here?"

"I lodge in this house, M. Rodin," answered Rose-Pompon, laying a
malicious stress on the name of her victim.

"You? Oh, dear, only to think I did not know I had such a pretty
neighbor."

"Yes, I have lodged here six months, M. Rodin."

"Really! where?"

"On the third story, front, M. Rodin."

"It was you, then, that sang so well just now?"

"Rather."

"You gave me great pleasure, I must say."

"You are very polite, M. Rodin."

"You lodge, I suppose, with your respectable family?"

"I believe you, M. Rodin," said Rose-Pompon, casting down her eyes
with a timid air. "I lodge with Grandpapa Philemon, and Grandmamma
Bacchanal--who is a queen and no mistake."

Rodin had hitherto been seriously uneasy, not knowing in what manner
Rose had discovered his real name. But on hearing her mention the
Bacchanal queen, with the information that she lodged in the house,
he found something to compensate for the disagreeable incident of
Rose-Pompon's appearance. It was, indeed, important to Rodin to find
out the Bacchanal Queen, the mistress of Sleepinbuff, and the sister of
Mother Bunch, who had been noted as dangerous since her interview with
the superior of the convent, and the part she had taken in the projected
escape of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Moreover, Rodin hoped--thanks to what he
had just heard--to bring Rose-Pompon to confess to him the name of the
person from whom she had learned that "Charlemagne" masked "Rodin."

Hardly had the young girl pronounced the name of the Bacchanal queen,
than Rodin clasped his hands, and appeared as much surprised as
interested.

"Oh, my dear child," he exclaimed, "I conjure you not to jest on this
subject. Are you speaking of a young girl who bears that nickname, the
sister of a deformed needlewoman."

"Yes, sir, the Bacchanal Queen is her nickname," said Rose-Pompon,
astonished in her turn; "she is really Cephyse Soliveau, and she is my
friend."

"Oh! she is your friend?" said Rodin, reflecting.

"Yes, sir, my bosom friend."

"So you love her?"

"Like a sister. Poor girl! I do what I can for her, and that's not much.
But how comes it that a respectable man of your age should know t