"We have some excellent soup," continued the husband. "The cold has perhaps affected you, madame," resumed the young woman; "pray, step in, and sit and warm yourself by our fire." "We may be Republicans," observed the pastry-cook; "but the devil is not always so black as he is painted." Encouraged by the kind words addressed to her by the shop-keepers, the old lady confessed that she had been followed by a strange man, and that she was afraid to return home by herself. "Is that all?" replied the valiant pastry-cook. "I'll be ready to go home with you in a minute, citizen." He gave the louis d'or to his wife, and then--animated by that sort of gratitude which all tradesmen feel at receiving a large price for an article of little value--hastened to put on his National Guard's uniform, and soon appeared in complete military array. In the mean while, however, his wife had found time to reflect; and in her case, as in many others, reflection closed the open hand of charity. Apprehensive that her husband might be mixed up in some misadventure, she tried hard to detain him; but, strong in his benevolent impulse, the honest fellow persisted in offering himself as the old lady's escort. "Do you imagine, madame, that the man you are so much afraid of, is still waiting outside the shop?" asked the young woman. "I feel certain of it," replied the lady. "Suppose he should be a spy! Suppose the whole affair should be a conspiracy! Don't go! Get back the box we gave her." These words whispered to the pastry-cook by his wife, had the effect of cooling his courage with extraordinary rapidity. "I'll just say two words to that mysterious personage outside, and relieve you of all annoyance immediately," said he, hastily quitting the shop. The old lady, passive as a child, and half-bewildered, reseated herself. The pastry-cook was not long before he returned. His face, which was naturally ruddy, had turned quite pale; he was so panic-stricken, that his legs trembled under him, and his eyes rolled like the eyes of a drunken man. "Are you trying to get our throats cut for us, you rascally aristocrat?" cried he, furiously. "Do you think you can make _me_ the tool of a conspiracy? Quick! show us your heels! and never let us see your face again!" So saying, he endeavored to snatch away the box, which the old lady had placed in her pocket. No sooner, however, had his hands touched her dress, than, preferring any perils in the street to losing the treasure for which she had just paid so large a price, she darted with the activity of youth toward the door, opened it violently, and disappeared in a moment from the eyes of the bewildered shopkeepers.