There was once a charmingly pretty oyster-girl named Louise Leroux, known as _La belle écaillère_. She had a lover named Montreuil, a fireman, who, in a moment of frantic jealousy, plunged his sword into her breast. This horrible crime at once rendered “the beautiful oyster-girl” famous, not only in Paris, but throughout Europe; and in due time the legend of her life and love took dramatic form, and found its way to the stage. The interest excited in her unhappy end was all the greater inasmuch as her murderer had eluded justice by flying to England, where, in London, he set up as a fencing master. The Gaieté Theatre achieved, in 1837, one of its greatest successes by putting on the boards, under the title of _La Belle Écaillère_, the tragic history of Louise Leroux. Since then the name has been familiarly applied without discrimination to the female oyster-sellers of Paris, many of whom have well deserved it. But while bearing the name, they have abandoned the traditional fireman, as rather too dangerous a commodity. In lieu of firemen they have captivated notaries, financiers, and others in superior stations of life; whilst one is known to have turned the head of a state minister, who, even if he did not marry her, confessed the passion with which she inspired him by devouring thirty-two dozen of her oysters every morning before breakfast. The flame within him had first been excited by the siren’s ready wit. As he was entering a restaurant one day, a friend who accompanied him remarked: “To-day, my dear sir, more than ever, France dances on a volcano.” “What nonsense!” cried the _écaillère_; “she dances on a heap of oysters!” Next day the exclamation was reported in a Paris journal, which easily turned it to political account. There was another oyster-girl who solved a question of lexicographic definition which had hopelessly baffled the Academicians. A new edition of the _Dictionnaire de l’Académie_ was being prepared, and it became necessary to establish the distinction of meaning between the two expressions _de suite_ and _tout de suite_. The forty Academicians were all at variance about it, and were about to tear their hair, when one of them, Népomucène Lemercier, exclaimed: “Let us go and dine at Ramponneau’s. That’s better than disputing. We can discuss the matter during dessert.” “Agreed,” replied another member--Nodier. The Academicians forthwith set out, and when they had arrived at their destination one of them, Parseval-Grandmaison, who ordered the dinner, said to the _écaillère_: “Open forty dozen oysters for us _de suite_, and serve them _tout de suite_.” “But, sir,” replied the oyster-woman, “if I open them _de suite_, I cannot serve them _tout de suite_.” The Academicians looked at each other in astonishment. The problem had been solved. They had now discovered that of the two expressions _tout de suite_ indicated the greater celerity. [Illustration: Street Scene]