mor that a license fee is to be required by the city.

All this is food for discussion.

After supper they all sit about the kitchen or in the alley-way,
chatting, smoking. She who has been lucky in her sales basks in Sorel's
favor. The unfortunate peasant from the Brie country feels the little
bullet in his heart, and nurses a desperate resolution to redeem himself
on the morrow: one must live.

Sometimes, if you happen to pass there on a warm evening, you may see
a young woman, rather handsome, sitting sidewise on the outer basement
steps, looking absently before her, straight-backed, upright, with her
hands clasped about one knee, with her skirt sweeping away: a picture of
Alsace. I have never been able to find out who she is.

One evening there is a little flutter among this brood. A gentleman,
at the alley door, wishes to see M. Sorel. M. Sorel leads the gentleman
out, through the alley gate, to the front street-door; then, retiring
whence he came, he shortly appears from within at the front door,
which opens only after a struggle. A knot of small boys has instantly
gathered, apparently impressed with a vague, awful expectation that the
gentleman about to enter will never come out. Realizing, however, that
in that case there will be nothing to see, they slowly disperse when the
door is closed, and resume their play.

Sorel ushers the gentleman into the front parlor, which is Sorel's
bedroom, which is also the storehouse of his merchandise, which is also
the nursery. At this moment an infant is sleeping in a trundle-bed.

The gentleman takes a chair. So does Sorel.

The gentleman does not talk French. Fortunately, M. Sorel can speak the
English: he has learned it in making purchases for his table.

"I am an officer of the government," says Mr. Fox, with a very sharp,
distinct utterance, "in the custom-house. You know 'customhouse'?"

M. Sorel does not commit himself. He is an importer of toys. One must
be on his guard.

Thereupon, a complicated explanation: this street, and that street,
and the other street, and this building, and the market, and the great
building standing here.

Ah! yes! M. Sorel identifies the building. Then he is informed that many
government officers are there. He knew it very well before.

The conversation goes a step farther.

Mr. Fox is one of those officers. The government is at present in need
of a gentleman absolutely trustworthy, for certain important duties:
perhaps to ju