"But to go back to Cabrion. Only imagine a bald-headed, stout, elderly gentleman, coming to tell us of Alfred's new situation, and at the same time inquiring if a talented artist of the name of Cabrion did not once lodge in the house with us. Oh, my poor darling! Directly Cabrion's name was mentioned down went the boot he was mending, and if I had not caught him he would have swooned away. But, fortunately, the bald gentleman added, 'This young painter has been engaged by a very wealthy person to do some work, which will occupy him for years, and he may, very probably, establish himself in another country.' In confirmation of which the old gentleman gave my Alfred the date of Cabrion's departure, with the address of the office from which he started." "And I had the unhoped-for satisfaction of reading on the ticket, 'M. Cabrion, artist in painting, departs for Strasburg, and further, by the company's diligence.' The hour named was for this morning. I need not say I was in the inn yard with my wife." "And there we saw the rascal take his seat on the box beside the driver." "Just as the vehicle was set in motion Cabrion perceived me, turned around, and cried,'Yours for ever! I go to return no more.' Thank heaven! The loud blast of the guard's horn nearly drowned these familiar and insulting words, as well as any others he might have intended to utter. But I pity and forgive the wretched man,--I can afford to be generous, for I am delivered from the bane and misery of my life." "Depend upon it, M. Pipelet," said Rigolette, endeavouring to restrain a loud fit of laughter,--"depend upon it, you will see him no more. But listen to me, and I will tell you something I am sure you are ignorant of and which it will be almost difficult for you to credit. What do you think of our M. Rodolph not being what we took him for, but a prince in disguise,--a royal highness!" "Go along with you!" said Anastasie. "That is a joke!" "Oh, but really," cried Rigolette, "I am not joking; it is as true as--as--that I am married to my dear Germain." "Goodness gracious me!" exclaimed Anastasie. "My king of lodgers a royal highness! Oh, dear, here's a pretty go! And I asked him to mind the lodge for me. Oh, pardon! Pardon! Pardon!" And then, carried away by the excess of her reverence and regret for having so undervalued a prince, though a disguised one, Madame Pipelet placed her cap on her head, as though she imagined herself in the presence of royalty.