“I mean to say what I say; and believe me, sir, it is not very becoming in a youth of your age to amuse himself at the expense of an old man like me. If it was for that you stopped, you would have done better to have kept on your way.” Eusebe, not knowing what to reply, passed on, thinking himself really unfortunate. Since he left the Capelette, he had fallen from Charybdis into Scylla. The railroad agent had bullied him; the two travellers had laughed at him; the cabman had insulted him; the soldier had deceived him; and the old man had abused him. He began to think he would have to undergo a great deal in becoming acquainted with the world, and that the Parisians were not so highly civilized as they were generally supposed to be. At this moment he was interrupted in his reflections by the cries of a woman. The people gathered around her, and he followed their example. “What is the matter with this woman?” he asked of his neighbor. “Her husband,” replied the spectator, “was a native of Auvergnat, a tradesman, who rented this shop six months ago. Business has not been good with him. His wife is a shrew, and his landlord an unfeeling Jew, who wanted to make him leave the premises. The poor man was unable to endure so many misfortunes, and has just hung himself. From where I stand you could see him hanging at the end of a cord. They have gone to inform the authorities.” Eusebe stretched out his arms, thrust the crowd aside, and, with one bound, entered the shop, knife in hand. “Stop!” cried the spectators. “Stop, young man! You will get into trouble. Wait for the officers. The law forbids you to touch persons who hang themselves. You will wish you had let him alone.” Without listening to any of these remonstrances, the young man had cut the cord and placed the poor shopkeeper on a chair. With a motion of the hand he had kept back the crowd, that intercepted the air, and, on his knees before the Auvergnat, he watched anxiously for some signs of returning life. All at once a murmur was heard in the crowd. “Here comes the commissary! Here is M. Bézieux. Make way for the commissary.” The magistrate advanced quietly. There was a pleasing benevolence in his expression, as his mild but piercing eyes ran over the group. The representative of the law arrived slowly, and without any appearance of being annoyed, to verify the sinister event that had just been announced to him. “Where is the suicide?” demanded the magistrate. For an instant the group was still, appearing to hesitate between anxiety to speak and silence. The bad instincts, however, soon got the ascendency, and, pointing to Eusebe, three or four persons cried out,-- “It was this young man who cut the cord: it was impossible for us to stop him.”