"Oh, very good people; but they died of the cholera (here the large black eyes became tearful); the little they left was sold to discharge two or three small debts, and I found that no one would shelter me. Not knowing what to do I went to the guard-house, opposite where I had resided, and said to the sentinel: 'Soldier, my parents are dead, and I do not know where to go. What must I do?' The sub-officer came and took me to the magistrate, who sent me to prison as a vagabond, which I was allowed to quit at sixteen years of age." "But your parents?" "I do not know who was my father; I was six years old when I lost my mother, who had taken me from the Foundling Hospital, where she had been compelled at first to place me. The kind people of whom I have spoken lived in our house; they had no children, and seeing me an orphan, took care of me." "And how did they live? What was their condition in life?" "Papa Cretu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and the female who lived with him worked at her needle." "Then they were tolerably well off?" "Oh, as well off as most people in their station. Though not married, they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and downs; to-day in abundance, if there was plenty of work; to-morrow straitened, if there was not any; but that did not prevent them from being contented and gay (at this remembrance Miss Dimpleton's face brightened). There was nowhere near a house like it--always cheerful, always singing; and with all that, good and kind beyond belief! What was theirs, was for others also. Mamma Cretu was a plump body of thirty, clean as a new penny, lively as an eel, merry as a finch. Her husband was a regular jolly old King Cole; he had a large nose, a large mouth, always a paper cap on his head, and a face so droll--oh, so droll, that you could not look at him without laughing! When he returned home after work he did nothing but sing, make faces, and gambol like a child. He made me dance, and jump upon his knees; he played with me as if he were my own age, and his wife entirely spoilt me. Both required of me but one thing--to be good-humored; and in that, thank God! I never disappointed them; so they baptized me, Dimpleton (not Simpleton, neighbor!) and the cap fitted. As to gayety, they set me the example: never did I see them sad. If they uttered reproaches at all, it was the wife said to her husband: 'Stop, Cretu, you make me laugh too much!' or he said to her 'Hold your tongue, Ramonette (I do not know why he called her Ramonette), you will make me ill, you are so funny!' And as for me, I laughed to see them laugh. That's how I was brought up, and how my character was formed; I trust I have profited by it!" "To perfection, neighbor! Then they never quarreled?"