At the supper-table all is joy, even with the hopeless. Fidèle beams with good-humor, and not infrequently is called on to describe, amid a general hush, for the benefit of some new-comer from “_la belle France_” the quarterly receipt of the communication from Washington: how he stays at home that day, and shaves, and waits at the door for “_la poste_;” how the gray-uniformed letter-carrier appears, hands out a letter “as large as that,” and nods smilingly to Fidèle: he, too, fought at “_la Montagne du Lookout_.” The amount of the sergeant's pension astonishes them, wonted as they are to the pecuniary treatment of soldiers in the Old World. “_Mais_, it is a fortune! Fidèle is a _vrai rentier!_ Ah! _une république comme ça!_” Generally, however, Fidèle contents himself at the evening meal with smiling good-humoredly on everybody and rapidly passing in, under his drooping mustache, spoonfuls of soup, morsels from the long French loaf, and draughts of lager beer; for only the rich can have wine in this country, and in the matter of drink an exile must needs lower his standard, as the prodigal lowered his. While Sorel and his wife and their busy maid fly in and out with _potage_ and _rôti_, “_t-r-r-rès succulent_,” the history of which we must not pry too deeply into, there is much excited conversation. You see at once that many amusing things happen to one who sells balloons all day upon the Park. And there are varied fortunes to recount. Such a lady actually wished to buy three for fifty cents! Such a “police-er-mann” is to be highly commended; such another looks with an evil eye upon all: he should truly be removed from office. There is a rumor that a license fee is to be required by the city. All this is food for discussion. After supper they all sit about the kitchen or in the alley-way, chatting, smoking. She who has been lucky in her sales basks in Sorel's favor. The unfortunate peasant from the Brie country feels the little bullet in his heart, and nurses a desperate resolution to redeem himself on the morrow: one must live. Sometimes, if you happen to pass there on a warm evening, you may see a young woman, rather handsome, sitting sidewise on the outer basement steps, looking absently before her, straight-backed, upright, with her hands clasped about one knee, with her skirt sweeping away: a picture of Alsace. I have never been able to find out who she is.