her culinary arrangements, resumed her conversation
with Rodolph.

"And who lives on the second floor?" inquired he of the porteress.

"Why, Mother Burette does,--a most wonderful woman at fortune-telling;
bless you, she can read in your hand the same as a book, and many quite
first-rate people come to her to have the cards consulted when they are
anxious about any particular matter. She earns her weight in gold, and
that is not a trifle, for she is a rare bundle of an old body. However,
telling fortunes is only one of her means of gaining a livelihood."

"Why, what does she do besides?"

"She keeps what you would call a pawnbroker's shop upon a small scale."

"I see; your second-floor lodger lends out again the money she derives
from her skill in foretelling events by reading the cards."

"Exactly so; only she is cheaper and more easy to deal with than the
regular pawnbrokers: she does not confuse you with a heap of paper
tickets and duplicates,--nothing of the sort. Now suppose: Some one
brings Mother Burette a shirt worth three francs; well, she lends ten
sous upon condition of being paid twenty at the end of the week,
otherwise she keeps the shirt for ever. That is simple enough, is it
not? Always in round figures, you see,--a child could understand it. And
the odd things she has brought her as pledges you would scarcely
believe. You can hardly guess what she sometimes is asked to lend upon.
I saw her once advance money upon a gray parrot that swore like a
trooper,--the blackguard did."

"A parrot? But to what amount did she advance money?"

"I'll tell you; the parrot was well known; it belonged to a Madame
Herbelot, the widow of a factor, living close by, and it was also well
understood that Madame Herbelot valued the parrot as much as she did her
life. Well, Mother Burette said to her, 'I will lend you ten francs on
your bird, but if by this day week at twelve o'clock I do not receive
twenty francs with interest (it would amount to that in round numbers),
if I am not paid my twenty francs, with the expenses of his keep, I
shall give your Polly a trifling dose of arsenic mixed with his food.'
She knew her customer well, bless you! However, by this threat Mother
Burette received her twenty francs at the end of seven days, and Madame
Herbelot got back her disagreeable, screaming parrot."

"Mother Burette has no other way of living besides the two you have
named, I suppose?"

"Not that I know of. I don't kn