ish a trial, you shall have one. You want a
rope, you shall not be disappointed."

"Monseigneur," cried Buvat, falling on his knees, "what must I do?"

"Hang, hang, hang!" continued Dubois.

"Monseigneur," said the usher, returning, "the carriage is at the door,
and the officer in the anteroom."

"Monseigneur," said Buvat, twisting his little legs, and tearing out the
few yellow hairs which he had left, "monseigneur, will you be pitiless!"

"Ah! you will not tell me the name of the prince?"

"It is the Prince de Listhnay, monseigneur."

"Ah! you will not tell me his address?"

"He lives at No. 110, Rue du Bac, monseigneur."

"You will not make me copies of those papers?"

"I will do it, I will do it this instant," said Buvat; and he went and
sat down before the desk, took a pen, dipped it in the ink, and taking
some paper, began the first page with a superb capital. "I will do it, I
will do it, monseigneur; only you will allow me to write to Bathilde
that I shall not be home to dinner. Bathilde at the Saint Lazare?"
murmured Buvat between his teeth, "Sabre de bois! he would have done as
he said."

"Yes, monsieur, I would have done that, and more too, for the safety of
the State, as you will find out to your cost, if you do not return these
papers, and if you do not take the others, and if you do not bring a
copy here every evening."

"But, monseigneur," cried Buvat, in despair, "I cannot then go to my
office."

"Well then, do not go to your office."

"Not go to my office! but I have not missed a day for twelve years,
monseigneur."

"Well, I give you a month's leave."

"But I shall lose my place, monseigneur."

"What will that matter to you, since they do not pay you?"

"But the honor of being a public functionary, monseigneur; and,
moreover, I love my books, I love my table, I love my hair seat," cried
Buvat, ready to cry; "and to think that I shall lose it all!"

"Well, then, if you wish to keep your books, your table, and your chair,
I should advise you to obey me."

"Have I not already put myself at your service?"

"Then you will do what I wish?"

"Everything."

"Without breathing a word to any one?"

"I will be dumb."

"Not even to Mademoiselle Bathilde?"

"To her less than any one, monseigneur."

"That is well. On that condition I pardon you."

"Oh, monseigneur!"

"I shall forget your fault."

"Monseigneur is too good."

"And, perhaps, I will even reward you."

"Oh, monse