m a chance of
picking up a bone somewhere."

"I dare not; he would be picked up himself. Dogs are getting very
valuable: they sell for 50 francs apiece. Come, De Breze, where are we
to dine?"

"I and Savarin can dine at the London Tavern upon rat pate or jugged
cat. But it would be impertinence to invite a satrap like yourself who
has a whole dog in his larder--a dish of 50 francs--a dish for a king.
Adieu, my dear Frederic. Allons, Savarin."

"I feasted you on better meats than dog when I could afford it," said
Frederic, plaintively; "and the first time you invite me you retract the
invitation. Be it so. Bon appetit."

"Bah!" said De Breze, catching Frederic's arm as he turned to depart.
"Of course I was but jesting. Only another day, when my pockets will be
empty, do think what an excellent thing a roasted dog is, and make up
your mind while Fox has still some little flesh on his bones."

"Flesh!" said Savarin, detaining them. "Look! See how right Voltaire was
in saying, 'Amusement is the first necessity of civilised man.' Paris
can do without bread Paris still retains Polichinello."

He pointed to the puppet-show, round which a crowd, not of children
alone, but of men-middle-aged and old-were collected; while sous were
dropped into the tin handed round by a squalid boy.

"And, mon ami," whispered De Breze to Lemercier, with the voice of a
tempting fiend, "observe how Punch is without his dog."

It was true. The dog was gone,--its place supplied by a melancholy
emaciated cat.

Frederic crawled towards the squalid boy. "What has become of Punch's
dog?"

"We ate him last Sunday. Next Sunday we shall have the cat in a pie,"
said the urchin, with a sensual smack of the lips.

"O Fox! Fox!" murmured Frederic, as the three men went slowly down
through the darkening streets--the roar of the Prussian guns heard afar,
while distinct and near rang the laugh of the idlers round the Punch
without a dog.

CHAPTER III.

While De Breze and his friends were feasting at the cafe Anglais, and
faring better than the host had promised--for the bill of fare comprised
such luxuries as ass, mule, peas, fried potatoes, and champagne
(champagne in some mysterious way was inexhaustible during the time of
famine)--a very different group had assembled in the rooms of
Isaura Cicogna. She and the Venosta had hitherto escaped the extreme
destitution to which many richer persons had been reduced. It is true
that Isaura's fort