military fashion, by placing the back of her left hand to her wig. It was, in truth, Rodolph, who, as yet ignorant of the death of M. d'Harville, approached gaily, saying: "Good day to you, Madame Pipelet! Can you tell me if Mlle. Rigolette is at home? I have something to say to her, if she is." "At home, poor girl! Why, when is she ever out? When does she lose an hour, or idle instead of working?" "And how gets on Morel's unfortunate wife? Does she appear more reconciled to her misfortunes?" "Yes, M. Rodolph, I am glad to say she does; and how can she be otherwise, when, thanks to you, or the generous friend whose agent you are, she is supplied with every comfort, both for herself and her children, who are as happy as fishes in the sea? Why, they want for nothing; they have good air, good food, good fires, and good beds, with a nurse to take care of them, besides Mlle. Rigolette, who, although working like a little busy bee, and without seeming to take part in their proceedings, never loses sight of them, bless you! And they have had a black doctor to see them, who says he comes from you. 'Well,' says I, when I looked at him, 'you are a funny one for a doctor, you are! I suppose, Mr. Nigger, you are physician to a company of charcoalmen, because there is no fear of your blacking your hands when you feel their pulse?' But la, M. Rodolph, I'm only joking! For what difference does colour make? Leastways your blacky seems to be a first-rate clever man, spite of his dingy face, for the first thing he did was to order a composing draught for Morel's wife, which did her a world of good!" "Poor thing! I doubt not she is still very miserable?"