"Before I leave you," he said to Sister Anne, "I must tell you that there is one little formality to be attended to: when you hire lodgings in Paris, you must make a statement of what money you have about you. This is a rule made by the police, so that nothing can ever be lost in the city; for if you declare to-day that you have forty louis, and one of them is stolen from you to-morrow, then they go about and count the contents of the purses of everybody in the capital, and the man who has one louis too many is the thief. What do you say to that? it's a bright idea, isn't it?" Sister Anne did not clearly understand what he said; she looked at him as if awaiting a further explanation, and he continued: "Will you go to settle the matter with the mistress of the house? or would you like me to go for you? That will be better. Give me your purse; it's the quickest way." The poor child drew her purse from her bosom; and the obliging gentleman took it, saying: "Don't be impatient; I'll go and count what there is in it." Then he left the room, and as he went downstairs he gave the mistress of the house a gold piece, saying: "This is to pay for that young woman's lodging; she's a mute." With that, he hurried away, flattering himself that he had performed a very neat trick; he went to the Palais-Royal, where he found other blacklegs of his stamp, and soon lost the money he had stolen from a helpless woman; then, as he was unable to find other dupes who would give him their purses, he filched one from the pocket of a stout English milord; the Englishman, having detected him in the act, caused his arrest; he was taken to the Préfecture, then to Bicêtre, then to the galleys, where he kept his hand in by stealing from his fellow convicts. There we will leave him. Sister Anne waited and waited for the return of the kind friend who had gone out with her purse; the poor child had no suspicion, she was not at all anxious, and played quietly with her son, glancing out of the window now and then, but instantly drawing back in alarm, because the room was on the third floor, and she had never been so far above the ground. But her friend did not return, and Sister Anne was beginning to wonder at his long absence, when the landlady appeared. The young mother put out her hand for her purse, but the woman simply asked what she could do for her. "I'll take good care of you," said she; "for the gentleman, when he went away, paid for your board and lodging and whatever you might want during the two days that he said you would stay here." He had gone away! A horrible presentiment enlightened Sister Anne at last; she tried to make herself understood, constantly holding out her hand and going through the motion of counting money. "I am paid, I tell you," said the landlady; "I don't want anything, my child, and I'll send up your dinner."