timidated by the bully's fury.

"Ah, Vitalis," he hissed, "so you'll talk? Well, I can talk also. Your
affairs do not concern me, but there are others who are interested in
you and if I tell, if I say one name.... Ah, who will have to hide his
head in shame?"

My master was silent. Shame! His shame! I was amazed, but before I had
time to think, he had taken me by the hand.

"Come, Remi," he said. And he drew me to the door.

"Oh," cried Garofoli, now laughing, "I thought you wanted to talk to me,
old fellow."

"I have nothing to say to you."

Then, without another word, we went down the stairs, he still holding me
tightly by the hand. With what relief I followed him! I had escaped from
that tyrant! If I had dared I would have thrown my arms around Vitalis'
neck.

CHAPTER XVII

POOR VITALIS

While we were in the street Vitalis said not a word, but soon we came to
a narrow alley and he sat down on a mile-stone and passed his hand
several times across his forehead.

"It may be fine to listen to the voice of generosity," he said, as
though speaking to himself, "but now we're in the gutters of Paris,
without a sou; not a bite to eat.... Are you hungry?" he asked, looking
up at me.

"I haven't eaten anything since that little roll you gave me this
morning."

"Poor, poor child, and you'll have to go to bed to-night without supper.
And where are we going to sleep?"

"Did you count on sleeping at Garofoli's, then?"

"I counted upon you sleeping there, and as he would have given me twenty
francs for you for the winter, I could have managed for the time being.
But, seeing the way he treated those children, I could not give you to
him."

"Oh, you are so good!"

"Perhaps in this old, hardened vagabond there is still a bit of the
young man's heart left. This old vagabond calculated shrewdly, but the
young man still in him upset all.... Now, where to go?" he murmured.

It was already late and the cold had increased. It was going to be a
hard night. For a long time Vitalis sat on the stone. Capi and I stood
silently before, waiting until he had come to some decision. Finally he
rose.

"Where are we going?"

"To Gentilly, to try and find a race-course where I've slept sometimes.
Are you tired?"

"I rested at Garofoli's."

"The pity is that I haven't rested, and I can't do much more. But we
must get along. Forward! March! Children!"

This was his good humor signal for the dogs and myself when we we