o hungry for that. I wish I
could see a capon and a bottle of white wine."

"MONSIEUR SIMON!" cried a voice on the landing-place.

"C'est ici," quoth Gambouge, hastening to open the door. He did so;
and lo! there was a _restaurateur's_ boy at the door, supporting a
tray, a tin-covered dish, and plates on the same; and, by its side, a
tall amber-coloured flask of Sauterne.

"I am the new boy, sir," exclaimed this youth, on entering; "but I
believe this is the right door, and you asked for these things."

Simon grinned, and said, "Certainly, I did _ask for_ these things."
But such was the effect which his interview with the demon had had on
his innocent mind, that he took them, although he knew they were for
old Simon, the Jew dandy, who was mad after an opera girl, and lived
on the floor beneath.

"Go, my boy," he said; "it is good: call in a couple of hours, and
remove the plates and glasses."

The little waiter trotted down stairs, and Simon sat greedily down to
discuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devoured
the wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;--seasoning
his repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for the
inevitable bill which was to follow all.

"Ye gods!" said he, as he scraped away at the back-bone, "what a
dinner! what wine!--and how gaily served up too!" There were silver
forks and spoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver
dish. "Why the money for this dish and these spoons," cried Simon,
"would keep me and Mrs. G. for a month! I WISH"--and here Simon
whistled, and turned round to see that no one was peeping--"I wish
the plate were mine."

Oh, the horrid progress of the Devil! "Here they are," thought Simon
to himself; "why should not I _take them_?" and take them he did.
"Detection," said he, "is not so bad as starvation; and I would as
soon live at the galleys as live with Madame Gambouge."

So Gambouge shovelled dish and spoons into the flap of his surtout,
and ran down stairs as if the Devil were behind him--as, indeed, he
was.

He immediately made for the house of his old friend the
pawnbroker--that establishment which is called in France the Mont de
Piete. "I am obliged to come to you again, my old friend," said Simon,
"with some family plate, of which I beseech you to take care."

The pawnbroker smiled as he examined the goods. "I can give you
nothing upon them," said he.

"What!" cried Simon; "not even the worth of