"I do not know that voice," said Alfred, after a moment of anxious listening, and he let his arm, inclosed in the boot he was mending, fall on his knees. "Mr. Pipelet! make haste!" repeated the voice, in a pressing tone. "That voice is completely strange to me. It is masculine; it calls me, that I can affirm. It is not a sufficient reason that I should abandon my lodge. Leave it--desert it in the absence of my wife--never!" cried Alfred, heroically, "never!" "Mr. Pipelet," said the voice, "come up quick, Mrs. Pipelet is off in a swoon." "Anastasia!" cried Alfred, rising from his seat: then be fell back again, saying to himself, "child that I am--it is impossible; my wife went out an hour ago. Yes, but might she not have returned without my seeing her? This would be rather irregular; but I must declare that it is possible." "Mr. Pipelet, come up; I have your wife in my arms!" "Some one has my wife in their arms!" said Pipelet, rising abruptly. "I cannot unlace Mrs. Pipelet all alone!" added the voice. These words produced a magical effect upon Alfred: his face flushed, his chastity revolted. "The masculine and unknown voice speaks of unlacing Anastasia!" cried he: "I oppose it, I forbid it!" and he rushed out of the lodge; but on the threshold he stopped. Pipelet found himself in one of those horribly critical, and eminently dramatical positions, so often described by poets. On the one hand, duty retained him in his lodge: on the other, his chaste and conjugal susceptibility called him to the upper stories of the house. In the midst of these terrible perplexities, the voice said: "You don't come, Mr. Pipelet? so much the worse--I cut the strings, and I shut my eyes!" This threat decided Pipelet. "Mossieur!" cried he, in a stentorian voice, "in the name of honor I conjure you to cut nothing--to leave my wife intact! I come!" and Alfred rushed upstairs, leaving, in his alarm, the door of the lodge open. Hardly had he left it, than a man entered quickly, took from the table a hammer, jumped on the bed, at the back part of the obscure alcove, and vanished. This operation was done so quickly, that the porter, remembering almost immediately that he had left the door open, returned precipitately, shut it, and carried off the key, without suspecting that any one could have entered in this interval. After this measure of precaution, Alfred started again to the assistance of Anastasia, crying, with all his strength, "Cut nothing--I am coming-- here I am--I place my wife under the safeguard of your delicacy!" Hardly had he mounted the first flight, before he heard the voice of Anastasia, not from the upper story, but in the alley. The voice, shriller than ever cried, "Alfred! here you leave the lodge alone! Where are you, old gadabout?"