_Trotter._ Master, it is no fault of mine if, instead of crawling under the door, I was obliged to make a long journey round and come over the roof. _Gnawer._ [_Laughing._] Nor mine that I know of. [_He helps himself._] Try a little of this grilled nut; it is delicious! _Trotter._ [_Gloomily._] I suppose it is my fate. _Gnawer._ Again prating about fate. Can’t you leave fate alone? _Trotter._ Master, fate is never tired of persecuting us. Is it not fate that has filled the hole you cut with such labour at the bottom of the door? so that your friends and neighbours might find no difficulty in visiting you. _Gnawer._ And you really think that fate filled up the hole? _Trotter._ What else could it be, tutor? _Gnawer._ It was Toinon. [_He helps him._] This lard is delicious. There is no one save Toinon has such good lard. _Trotter._ But who is Toinon, tutor? _Gnawer._ The mistress of the house, daughter of Babolin. The most charming woman, oh! and such a worker. She toils at sewing from morning till night. _Trotter._ And pray what interest can she have in stopping up holes? _Gnawer._ What interest? [_Laughing._] Taste this cheddar. Why, her legs to be sure; Toinon hates draughts. Besides, she is a charming girl, who makes crumbs when eating, and always leaves the cupboard door open. She will make an excellent wife. I wish I could marry her. _Trotter._ [_With bitterness._] You? _Gnawer._ [_Good-naturedly._] Yes, I wish I could marry her—to a youth she loves. It would give me the greatest pleasure to make two such beings happy. Who can prevent me? {100} _Trotter._ Reflect, master; you are but a miserable rat, and yet you speak of rendering human beings happy. We are of a despised race. There is nothing so mean in the eyes of men as rats. “Poor as a rat” is a common phrase with them. _Gnawer._ Your temper is soured, my boy. Let us walk to aid digestion. The fresh air may clear your mind of these notions. Did you ever come across the songs of Béranger? He says that the poor, or rats, if you prefer it, have for their portion probity, wisdom, and happiness. A celebrated Scotch poet has even spoken of mice and men in the same line— “The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men Gang aft a-gley.” That line recalls some incidents that have come under my personal notice, where the wisdom of the rat proved superior to the schemes of men. _Trotter._ Yes; it is all very well talking, nevertheless, the fact remains. We are a doomed race. Romantic ideas, however well expressed, will never feed the poor, or rats, when dying from hunger. _Gnawer._ Yes; who is in the habit of dying from hunger? Are you? Did you die yesterday? Are you dying to-day?