t as quick as gunpowder it clapped--in his face!

You could hear the fleeing feet of Zalli pounding up the staircase.

As the panting mother re-entered her room, "See, Maman," said 'Tite
Poulette, peeping at the window, "the young gentleman from over the way
has crossed!"

"Holy Mary bless him!" said the mother.

"I will go over," thought Kristian Koppig, "and ask him kindly if he is
not making a mistake."

"What are they doing, dear?" asked the mother, with clasped hands.

"They are talking; the young man is tranquil, but 'Sieur de la Rue is
very angry," whispered the daughter; and just then--pang! came a sharp,
keen sound rattling up the walls on either side of the narrow way, and
"Aha!" and laughter and clapping of female hands from two or three
windows.

"Oh! what a slap!" cried the girl, half in fright, half in glee, jerking
herself back from the casement simultaneously with the report. But the
"ahas" and laughter, and clapping of feminine hands, which still
continued, came from another cause. 'Tite Poulette's rapid action had
struck the slender cord that held up an end of her hanging garden, and
the whole rank of cigar-boxes slid from their place, turned gracefully
over as they shot through the air, and emptied themselves plump upon the
head of the slapped manager. Breathless, dirty, pale as whitewash, he
gasped a threat to be heard from again, and, getting round the corner as
quick as he could walk, left Kristian Koppig, standing motionless, the
most astonished man in that street.

"Kristian Koppig, Kristian Koppig," said Greatheart to himself, slowly
dragging up-stairs, "what a mischief you have done. One poor woman
certainly to be robbed of her bitter wages, and another--so lovely!--put
to the burning shame of being the subject of a street brawl! What will
this silly neighborhood say? 'Has the gentleman a heart as well as a
hand?' 'Is it jealousy?'" There he paused, afraid himself to answer the
supposed query; and then--"Oh! Kristian Koppig, you have been such a
dunce!" "And I cannot apologize to them. Who in this street would carry
my note, and not wink and grin over it with low surmises? I cannot even
make restitution. Money? They would not dare receive it. Oh! Kristian
Koppig, why did you not mind your own business? Is she any thing to you?
Do you love her? _Of course not_! Oh!--such a dunce!"

The reader will eagerly admit that however faulty this young man's
course of reasoning, his conclusion wa