“_Evidemment_” (this in a tone of irony) “_il faut un homme plus juste, plus loyale, que le pauvre Fidèle!_ (You know,--they got to 'ave one more honester man!) _Bien!_ You know who goin' 'ave 'is place?” I shook my head. Sorel laid down his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Then he went on, no longer speaking in French and then translating,--his usual concession to my supposed desires,--but mostly now in quasi-English: “_Mais_, you thing this great _gouvernement_ wan' hones' men work for her, _n'est-ce pas?_” “The government ought to have the most honest men,” I said. “_Bien_. Now you thing the _gouvernement_ boun' to 'ave some men w'at mos' know the business, _n'est-ce pas?_” “It ought to have them.” Sorel wiped his brow again. “Now, w'ich you thing the mos' honestes' man,--Fidèle, or-- _Carron?_ W'ich you thing know the business bes',--Fidèle, w'at been there, or Carron, w'at ain' been there?” “Fidèle, of course.” “Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our Fidèle, and let Carron got 'is place?” and he burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. In a moment he resumed: “Now,” he said, “I only got one more thing to ax you,” and taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his knees, before him, and stooping a little forward, eyed me closely: “You know w'at we talk sometimes, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh _république_--some _Orléanistes_, some _Légitimistes_, some _Bonapartistes?_ You merember 'ow we talk, you and me?” I nodded, “We ain' got no _Orléanistes_, no _Bonapartistes' ici_, in this _gouvernement, n'est-ce pas?_” I intimated that I had never met any. “Now,” he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his tone and his hard smile, “I use' thing you one good frien' to me, _mais_, you been makin' fool of me all that time!” “You don't think any such thing,” I said. “You know,” he went on, “who bounce our Fidèle?” “No.” Sorel received my reply with a low, incredulous laugh. Then he laid his hat down on the floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger, and, with the air of one who shows another that he knows his secret he demanded:-- “_Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_” I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not knowing just what to say. “_Mais_,” he went on, “all the _Américains_” (they were chiefly Irish) “roun' my 'ouse been tellin' me, long time, '_Le_ Boss goin' bounce Fidèle.' Me, I laugh w'en they say so. I say, '_Le Boss? C'est un créature d'imagination, pour nous effrayer,' you know, make us scart '_C'est un loup-garou,' you know,--w'at make 'fraid li'l chil'ren. That's w'at I tell them. I thing then you would n't been makin' fool of me.' “They don't know what they are talking about,” I said. “How can they know why Fidèle is removed?”