sively.

"But," resumed Savarin, "though credit exists no more except with my
laundress, upon terms of which the usury is necessarily proportioned to
the risk, yet, as I had the honour before to observe, there is comfort
for the proprietor. The instinct of property is imperishable."

"Not in the house where I lodge," said Lemercier. "Two soldiers were
billeted there; and during my stay in the ambulance they enter my rooms,
and cart away all of the little furniture left there, except a bed and a
table. Brought before a court-martial, they defend themselves by saying,
'The rooms were abandoned.' The excuse was held valid. They were let off
with a reprimand and a promise to restore what was not already disposed
of. They have restored me another table and four chairs."

"Nevertheless, they had the instinct of property, though erroneously
developed, otherwise they would not have deemed any excuse for their
act necessary. Now for my instance of the inherent tenacity of that
instinct. A worthy citizen in want of fuel sees a door in a garden wall,
and naturally carries off the door. He is apprehended by a gendarme who
sees the act. 'Voleur,' he cries to the gendarme, 'do you want to rob me
of my property?' 'That door your property? I saw you take it away.' 'You
confess,' cries the citizen, triumphantly--'you confess that it is my
property; for you saw me appropriate it.' Thus you see how imperishable
is the instinct of property. No sooner does it disappear as yours than
it reappears as mine."

"I would laugh if I could," said Lemercier, "but such a convulsion would
be fatal. Dieu des dieux, how empty I am!" He reeled as he spoke, and
clung to De Breze for support. De Breze had the reputation of being the
most selfish of men. But at that moment, when a generous man might be
excused for being selfish enough to desire to keep the little that he
had for his own reprieve from starvation, this egotist became superb.
"Friends," he cried, with enthusiasm, "I have something yet in my
pocket; we will dine, all three of us."

"Dine!" faltered Lemercier. "Dine! I have not dined since I left the
hospital. I breakfasted yesterday--on two mice upon toast. Dainty, but
not nutritious. And I shared them with Fox."

"Fox! Fox lives still, then?" cried De Breze, startled.

"In a sort of way he does. But one mouse since yesterday morning is not
much; and he can't expect that every day."

"Why don't you take him out?" asked Savarin. "Give hi