oing home. Come; be quick! we will go
together." She thrust her arm through his, and they hastened into the
street. When a square had been passed there came a sound of men running
behind them.

"Run, Monsieur, run!" she cried, trying to drag him; but Monsieur
Dutchman would not.

"_Run,_ Monsieur! Oh, my God! it is 'Sieur"--

"_That_ for yesterday!" cried the manager, striking fiercely with his
cane. Kristian Koppig's fist rolled him in the dirt.

"_That_ for 'Tite Poulette!" cried another man dealing the Dutchman a
terrible blow from behind.

"And _that_ for me!" hissed a third, thrusting at him with something
bright.

"_That_ for yesterday!" screamed the manager, bounding like a tiger;
"That!" "THAT!" "Ha!"

Then Kristian Koppig knew that he was stabbed.

"That!" and "That!" and "That!" and the poor Dutchman struck wildly here
and there, grasped the air, shut his eyes, staggered, reeled, fell, rose
half up, fell again for good, and they were kicking him and jumping on
him. All at once they scampered. Zalli had found the night-watch.

"Buz-z-z-z!" went a rattle. "Buz-z-z-z!" went another.

"Pick him up."

"Is he alive?"

"Can't tell; hold him steady; lead the way, misses."

"He's bleeding all over my breeches."

"This way--here--around this corner."

"This way now--only two squares more."

"Here we are."

"Rap-rap-rap!" on the old brass knocker. Curses on the narrow wicket,
more on the dark archway, more still on the twisting stairs.

Up at last and into the room.

"Easy, easy, push this under his head: never mind his boots!"

So he lies--on 'Tite Poulette's own bed.

The watch are gone. They pause under the corner lamp to count
profits;--a single bill--_Banque de la Louisiane_, fifty dollars.
Providence is kind--tolerably so. Break it at the "Guillaume Tell." "But
did you ever hear any one scream like that girl did?"

And there lies the young Dutch neighbor. His money will not flutter back
to him this time; nor will any voice behind a gate "beg Monsieur to go
away." O, Woman!--that knows no enemy so terrible as man! Come nigh,
poor Woman, you have nothing to fear. Lay your strange, electric touch
upon the chilly flesh; it strikes no eager mischief along the fainting
veins. Look your sweet looks upon the grimy face, and tenderly lay back
the locks from the congested brows; no wicked misinterpretation lurks to
bite your kindness. Be motherly, be sisterly, fear nought. Go, watch him
by night