An hour later she was back at the market-place, grinning and selling her fish. She was in time too, to hear the uproar when Adolphe, the showman, found the false coin in his box. She pushed to the fore, her red handkerchief conspicuous in the group, and her sharp eyes recognized the country boy who had followed her in to see the damned person. The showman was belching forth oaths and threats like the fiery furnace that belched flames on Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. Mère Tigrane’s eyes gleamed, and she pointed a long, bony finger at the poor lad. “He put it in, Adolphe,” she shrieked, with an oath. “I saw him, the vagabond!” Then she laughed and shook, clapping her hands to her sides. It was so diverting--the uproar, and the protests of the peasant boy as he was dragged off to jail with the rabble at his heels. “_Dame!_” she said, “’twas worth a good half-crown.” CHAPTER III MADEMOISELLE’S SLIPPERS The first day of the week Petit Bossu set his house in order. He swept the floor of the shop and put a cold dinner on the kitchen table that his guest might eat in his absence. Then he hung up his apron and blouse and, putting on his worn brown coat, slipped the leather strap of his wallet over his shoulder. Last he took a pair of slippers out of a cupboard and examined them with loving care and honest pride in their workmanship. They were small, high-heeled, blue slippers, daintily lined with white silk, and with rosettes of blue ribbon on the square toes. The little cobbler stroked them tenderly, fastened one bow more securely, and putting them carefully in his green bag, set out on his journey. It was early, and few people lounged in the streets, and le Bossu passed unheeded through the Rue St. Antoine, and went out at last at the Porte de France. His pace was always slow, and to-day he limped a little, but he kept cheerfully on, turning his face toward St. Césaire.