Théophraste answered in a less amiable tone, as he was not desiring the Signor’s company, and he demanded of him if Madame Petito could not be induced to learn another air on the piano than “Carnival de Venice.” But Signor Petito replied, smiling, that she was already studying “Love’s Destiny,” but in future she would study only the pieces which would please M. Longuet. He then asked, “Which way are you going?” “For a turn in the Moulin de Chopinette; but the weather is too bad, so I will have to go down to the Porcherons.” “To the Porcherons?” Signor Petito was going to ask, but he changed his mind. “Where is the Porcherons?” he asked. “I will go, too.” “Aha, indeed!” said M. Longuet, glancing curiously at Signor Petito. “You too will go to the Porcherons?” “Go there or somewhere else,” said Signor Petito, pleasantly, and he followed Théophraste. At the end of a short silence Signor Petito ventured to ask, “Where are your treasures, M. Longuet?” Théophraste faced about suddenly. “What has put such an idea into your head?” he exclaimed. “Do you not remember the day that you brought the specimen of your handwriting and asked for my opinion?” “I remember, and you were wrong,” said Théophraste drily, as he opened his umbrella. Signor Petito, in nowise discouraged, placed himself under the shelter of Théophraste’s umbrella. “Oh! M. Longuet, I did not say that to annoy you.” They arrived at the corner of the Avenue Tre-daine. Théophraste was in very bad humor. “Monsieur,” he said, “I have an appointment at the tavern of the Veau-qui-telle, by the side of the Chapel Porcherons, here, you see.” “But we are at the Chapel Notre Dame de Lor-rete, and not the Porcherons, at all.” Théophraste disregarded Petito’s remark, and suddenly said to him, “Do you know that there is a price on my head?” Signor Petito seemed taken aback by this sudden change of tone. “It will cost them dear, though, to get my head,” said Théophraste. “Do you know how much it will cost, Signor, the head of L’Enfant? No? Very well. I am going to tell you, since the occasion has presented itself, and I am going to tell you the whole story, which may be profitable to you.” Then, without any preparation, he related in the most natural way possible, his existence previous to his present one. “My head is worth 20,000 pounds,” said he, “and you know it very well.” And as he pronounced these words he struck the table such a blow that Signor Petito recoiled instinctively. “Here is the history of it all. I was walking, two hundred years ago, in the Rue de Vauregard, with my hands in my pocket, without arms, without even a sword, with the most honest intentions in the world, when a man met me. He bowed almost to the ground, and told me that my face reminded him so much of some one he knew. He was called ‘Old Man Bidel,’ or ‘Bidel the Good-natured,’ and he said that he had a secret to confide to me.