sixteen years
old."

"But your relations?"

"I do not know who my father was, and I was six years old when I lost my
mother, who had recovered me from the Enfants Trouves (Foundling
Hospital), where she had been compelled at first to place me. The kind
people of whom I spoke to you lived in our house; they had no children,
and, seeing me an orphan, they took care of me."

"And what were they? What was their business or pursuit?"

"Papa Cretu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and his wife
worked at her needle."

"Then they were pretty well off?"

"Oh, like other people in their station, though they were not married;
but they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and
downs; to-day plenty, if there was work to be had; to-morrow short
commons, if there was none; but that did not prevent the couple from
being content and always cheerful;" at this remembrance Rigolette's face
brightened up. "There was not such a household in the quarter,--always
merry, always singing, and, with it all, as good as they could be. What
they had any one was welcome to share. Mamma Cretu was a plump body,
about thirty years old, as neat as a penny, as active as an eel, as
merry as a lark. Her husband was a regular good-tempered fellow, with a
large nose, a wide mouth, and always a paper cap on his head, and such a
funny face,--oh, so funny,--you could not look at him without laughing.
When he came home after work, he did nothing but sing, and make faces,
and gambol like a child. He used to dance me on his knees, and play
with me like a child of my own age; and his wife spoiled me, as if I had
been a blessing to her. They both required only one thing from me, and
that was to be in a good humour; and in that I never thwarted them,
thank Heaven. So they called me Rigolette,[7] and the name has stuck to
me. As to mirth, they set me the example, for I never saw them
sorrowful. If ever there was a word, it was the wife who said to her
husband, 'Cretu, you silly fellow, do be quiet, you make me laugh too
much.' Then he said to her, 'Hold your foolish tongue, Ramonette,'--I
don't know why he called her Ramonette,--'do be still, you really make
my sides ache, you are so funny.' And then I laughed to see them laugh,
and in this way I was brought up, and in this way they formed my
disposition; and I hope I have profited by it."

[7] The French verb _rigoler_ is "to be merry."--E. T.

"Most assuredly you have, neighbo