f me."

"I must look out. I have a cousin who has a handsome furnished house in
the Rue St. Honore. His wife is a milliner in a large way, and employs,
perhaps, twenty needlewomen, either in the house, or having the work at
home."

"I say, old boy, I dare say there's some pretty uns among 'em?"

"I believe you. There's two or three that I have seen bring home work
sometimes,--my eyes, ain't they pretty, though? One little one in
particular, who works at home, and is always a-laughing, and they calls
her Rigolette, oh, my pippin, what a pity one ain't twenty years old all
over again!"

"Halloa, daddy, how you are going it!"

"Oh, it's all right, my boy,--all right!"

"'Walker!' old boy. And you say your cousin--"

"Does uncommon well with his house, and, as it is the same number as
that of the little Rigolette--"

"What, again?"

"Oh, it's all right and proper."

"'Walker!'"

"He won't have any lodgers but those who have passports and papers; but
if any come who haven't got 'em, he sends me those customers."

"And they pays accordingly?"

"In course."

"But they are all in our line who haven't got their riglar papers?"

"By no manner of means! Why, very lately, my cousin sent me a
customer,--devil burn me if I can make him out! Another drain?"

"Just one; the liquor's good. Here's t'ye again, Daddy Micou!"

"Here's to you again, my covey! I was saying that the other day my
cousin sent me a customer whom I can't make out. Imagine a mother and
daughter, who looked very queer and uncommon seedy; they had their whole
kit in a pocket-handkerchief. Well, there warn't much to be expected out
of this, for they had no papers, and they lodge by the fortnight; yet,
since they've been here, they haven't moved any more than a dormouse. No
men come to see them; and yet they're not bad-looking, if they weren't
so thin and pale, particularly the daughter, about sixteen,--with such a
pair of black eyes,--oh, such eyes!"

"Halloa, dad! You're off again. What do these women do?"

"I tell you I don't know; they must be respectable, and yet, as they
receive letters without any address, it looks queer."

"What do you mean?"

"They sent, this morning, my nephew Andre to the _Poste-Restante_ to
inquire for a letter addressed to 'Madame X. Z.' The letter was expected
from Normandy, from a town called Aubiers. They wrote that down on
paper, so that Andre might get the letter by giving these particulars.
You see, it doe