One evening there is a little flutter among this brood. A gentleman, at the alley door, wishes to see M. Sorel. M. Sorel leads the gentleman out, through the alley gate, to the front street-door; then, retiring whence he came, he shortly appears from within at the front door, which opens only after a struggle. A knot of small boys has instantly gathered, apparently impressed with a vague, awful expectation that the gentleman about to enter will never come out. Realizing, however, that in that case there will be nothing to see, they slowly disperse when the door is closed, and resume their play. Sorel ushers the gentleman into the front parlor, which is Sorel's bedroom, which is also the storehouse of his merchandise, which is also the nursery. At this moment an infant is sleeping in a trundle-bed. The gentleman takes a chair. So does Sorel. The gentleman does not talk French. Fortunately, M. Sorel can speak the English: he has learned it in making purchases for his table. “I am an officer of the government,” says Mr. Fox, with a very sharp, distinct utterance, “in the custom-house. You know 'customhouse'?” M. Sorel does not commit himself. He is an importer of toys. One must be on his guard. Thereupon, a complicated explanation: this street, and that street, and the other street, and this building, and the market, and the great building standing here. Ah! yes! M. Sorel identifies the building. Then he is informed that many government officers are there. He knew it very well before. The conversation goes a step farther. Mr. Fox is one of those officers. The government is at present in need of a gentleman absolutely trustworthy, for certain important duties: perhaps to judge of silks; perhaps to oversee the weighing of sugar, of iron, of diamonds; perhaps to taste of wines. Who can say what service this great government may not need from its children! With some labor, since the English is only a translucent, and not a transparent medium to Sorel, this is made clear. Still the horizon is dark. Mr. Fox draws his chair nearer, facing Sorel, who looks uneasy: Sorel's feelings, to the thousandth degree of subdivision, are always declaring themselves in swift succession upon his face. Mr. Fox proceeds. “The great officer of the custom-house, the collector--” “_Le chef?_” interrupts Sorel. --yes, the _chef_ (Mr. Fox seizes upon the word and clings to it),--the _chef_ has been speaking anxiously to Mr. Fox about this vacancy: Mr. Fox is in the _chefs_ confidence. “Ah!” from Sorel, in a tone of utter bewilderment. “We must have,” the _chef_ had said to Mr. Fox,--“we must have for this place a noble man, a man with a large heart” (the exact required dimensions Mr. Fox does not give); “a man who loves his government, a man who has showed himself ready to die for her; we must have”--here Mr. Fox bends forward and lays his hand upon Sorel's knee, and looks him in the eye,--“we must have--_a soldier!_”