o see these terrible
animals, and the famous Morok, the incomparable lion-tamer."

A few minutes after, Mdlle. de Cardoville's carriage had left the Champs
Elysees, carrying with it the little girl, and directing its course
towards the Rue d'Anjou. As the brilliant equipage disappeared from
the scene, the crowd, of which we before have spoken, greatly increased
about one of the large trees in the Champs-Elysees, and expressions of
pity were heard here and there amongst the groups. A lounger approached
a young man on the skirts of the crowd, and said to him: "What is the
matter, sir?"

"I hear it is a poor young girl, a hunchback, that has fallen from
exhaustion."

"A hunchback! is that all? There will always be enough hunchbacks," said
the lounger, brutally, with a coarse laugh.

"Hunchback or not, if she dies of hunger," answered the young man,
scarcely able to restrain his indignation, "it will be no less sad--and
there is really nothing to laugh at, sir."

"Die of hunger! pooh!" said the lounger, shrugging his shoulders. "It
is only lazy scoundrels, that will not work, who die of hunger. And it
serves them right."

"I wager, sir, there is one death you will never die of," cried the
young man, incensed at the cruel insolence of the lounger.

"What do you mean?" answered the other, haughtily.

"I mean, sir, that your heart is not likely to kill you."

"Sir!" cried the lounger in an angry tone.

"Well! what, sir?" replied the young man, looking full in his face.

"Nothing," said the lounger, turning abruptly on his heel, and grumbling
as he sauntered towards an orange-colored cabriolet, on which was
emblazoned an enormous coat-of-arms, surmounted by a baron's crest.
A servant in green livery, ridiculously laced with gold, was standing
beside the horse, and did not perceive his master.

"Are you catching flies, fool?" said the latter, pushing him with his
cane. The servant turned round in confusion. "Sir," said he.

"Will you never learn to call me Monsieur le Baron, rascal?" cried his
master, in a rage--"Open the door directly!"

The lounger was Baron Tripeaud, the manufacturing baron the
stock-jobber. The poor hunchback was Mother Bunch, who had, indeed
fallen with hunger and fatigue, whilst on her way to Mdlle. de
Cardoville's. The unfortunate creature had found courage to brave the
shame of the ridicule she so much feared, by returning to that house
from which she was a voluntary exile; but this time