"Excuse me," she said, and moved over a couple of paces in order to place the parlour table between herself and the prospective lodger. Using it as a screen, she fished a thin flat purse from her stocking, and opened it. "I wouldn't do this in the presence of any one but a gentleman," she explained, without embarrassment. As she was twice the size of Prince Waldemar and of a ruggedness that challenged offence, one might have been justified in crediting her with egotism instead of modesty. Selecting the brightest and crispest from the layer of bank notes, she laid them on the table. De Bosky's eyes glistened. "The city has recently been flooded with counterfeit fives and tens, madam," he said politely. This afforded an excuse for holding the bills to the light for examination. "Now, don't tell me they're phoney," said Mrs. Dulaney, bristling. "I got 'em this morning from the squarest chap I've ever had in my--" "I have every reason to believe they are genuine," said he, concealing his exultation behind a patronizing smile. He had discovered the tell-tale marks on both bills. Carefully folding them, he stuck them into his waistcoat pocket. "You may expect me tomorrow, madam,--unless, of course, destiny should shape another end for me in the meantime. One never can tell, you know. I may be dead, or your comfortable house may be burned to the ground. It is--" "For the Lord's sake, don't make a crack like that," she cried vehemently. "It's bad luck to talk about fire." "In any event," said he jauntily, "you have my five dollars. Au revoir, madam. Auf wiedersehn!" He buttoned Mr. Bramble's ulster close about his throat and gravely bowed himself out into the falling night. In the meantime, Mr. Bramble had substituted two unmarked bills for those remaining in the possession of Thomas Trotter, and, with the return of Prince Waldemar, triumphant, M. Mirabeau arbitrarily confiscated the entire thirty dollars. "These bills must be concealed at once," he explained. "Temporarily they are out of circulation. Do not give them another thought, my dear Trotter. And now, Monsieur Bookseller, we are in a proper frame of mind to discuss the beefsteak you have neglected to order." "God bless my soul," cried Mr. Bramble in great dismay. His unceremonious departure an instant later was due to panic. Mrs. O'Leary had to be stopped before the tripe and tunny fish had gone too far. Moreover, he had forgotten to tell her that there would be two extra for dinner,--besides the extra sirloin.