"_Eh, bien, Monsieur!_ I shall not dwell upon it. Enough,--we were ruined. I had played my grand _coup,_ and lost. For myself, nothing. But--John Meavy! Oh, Monsieur, I could not think! I went to my office, and sat there all day, stupid, only twirling my watch-key, and repeating to myself,--'A gold dollar! a gold dollar!' The afternoon had nearly gone when one of my clerks roused me:--'A letter for you, Mr. Prévost; it came by the steamer to-day.' "Monsieur," said the little Frenchman, producing a well-worn pocket-book, and taking out from it a tattered, yellow sheet, which he unfolded before me,--"Monsieur, you shall read that letter." It was this:-- "MY DEAR CESAR:-- "You must blame me and poor _Don Juan_ for the suspension of your Telegraph. I write, myself, to tell you how careless I have been; for poor John is in such a state of agitation, and seems to fear such calamities, that I will not let him write;--though what evil can come of it, beyond the inconvenience, I cannot see, nor will he tell me. You must answer this immediately, so as to prove to John that nothing has gone wrong; and so give me a chance to scold this good husband of mine for his vain and womanish apprehensions. But let me tell you how it happened to the poor snails,--_Don Juan_ is so tame, that I do not pretend to keep him shut up in his cage, but let him fly about our sitting-room, just as he pleases. The next room to this, you know, is the one where we kept the snails. I have been helping John with these for some time, and it is my custom, when he goes on 'Change, to look after the ugly creatures, and especially to open the boxes and give them air. Well, this morning,--you must not scold me, César, for I have wept enough for my carelessness, and as I write am trembling all over like a leaf,--this morning, I went into the snail-room as usual, opened the boxes, noted how well all six looked, and then, going to the window, stood there for some minutes, looking out at the people across the way preparing for the illumination to-night, (for we are going to have peace at last, and every one is so rejoiced!) and forgetting entirely that I had left open both the door of this room and that of the sitting-room also, until I heard the flutter of _Don Juan's_ wings behind me. I turned, and was horror-stricken to find him perched on the boxes, and pecking away at the poor snails, as if they were strawberries! I screamed, and ran to drive him off, but I was too late,--for, just as I caught him, the greedy fellow picked up and swallowed the last one of the entire six! I felt almost like killing _him,_ then; but I could not,--nor could _you_ have done it, César, had you but seen the arch defiance of his eye, as he fluttered out of my hands, flew back to his cage, and began to pour forth a whole world of melody!