"Dine!" faltered Lemercier. "Dine! I have not dined since I left the hospital. I breakfasted yesterday--on two mice upon toast. Dainty, but not nutritious. And I shared them with Fox." "Fox! Fox lives still, then?" cried De Breze, startled. "In a sort of way he does. But one mouse since yesterday morning is not much; and he can't expect that every day." "Why don't you take him out?" asked Savarin. "Give him a chance of picking up a bone somewhere." "I dare not; he would be picked up himself. Dogs are getting very valuable: they sell for 50 francs apiece. Come, De Breze, where are we to dine?" "I and Savarin can dine at the London Tavern upon rat pate or jugged cat. But it would be impertinence to invite a satrap like yourself who has a whole dog in his larder--a dish of 50 francs--a dish for a king. Adieu, my dear Frederic. Allons, Savarin." "I feasted you on better meats than dog when I could afford it," said Frederic, plaintively; "and the first time you invite me you retract the invitation. Be it so. _Bon appetit_." "_Bah_!" said De Breze, catching Frederic's arm as he turned to depart. "Of course I was but jesting. Only another day, when my pockets will be empty, do think what an excellent thing a roasted dog is, and make up your mind while Fox has still some little flesh on his bones." "Flesh!" said Savarin, detaining them. "Look! See how right Voltaire was in saying, 'Amusement is the first necessity of civilised man.' Paris can do without bread Paris still retains Polichinello." He pointed to the puppet-show, round which a crowd, not of children alone, but of men-middle-aged and old-were collected; while sous were dropped into the tin handed round by a squalid boy. "And, _mon ami_," whispered De Breze to Lemercier, with the voice of a tempting fiend, "observe how Punch is without his dog." It was true. The dog was gone,--its place supplied by a melancholy emaciated cat. Frederic crawled towards the squalid boy. "What has become of Punch's dog?" "We ate him last Sunday. Next Sunday we shall have the cat in a pie," said the urchin, with a sensual smack of the lips. "O Fox! Fox!" murmured Frederic, as the three men went slowly down through the darkening streets--the roar of the Prussian guns heard afar, while distinct and near rang the laugh of the idlers round the Punch without a dog. CHAPTER III.