"Good morning, Little Nick, it is I, your good friend Pierre." "No, it is I, Jean, you know me, I am your uncle." "No, it is I, Matthew, you remember that good soup I gave you. Come with me. You shall have a big piece of bacon." "Come with me!" "Come with me!" What a lot of friends! Little Nick growls with anger, and energetically motions them all to be gone. They obey, each meaning to return later. On the following day, the many "guardians" betake themselves to the justice of peace to explain matters, and lay claim to their "rights." The magistrate comes. "Little Nick, you have some gold pieces?" "Yes." "Will you tell me where you have put them?" "No." They rummage everywhere, and find nothing. Little Nick has spent the day in the woods. Doubtless he has buried his treasure there. They will follow him and discover his hiding place. They must wait until then. But already the "guardians" are wrangling over Little Nick, who does not know which to listen to. The cleverest among them suggests his unloading a cart of manure for him. That means pleasure. Little Nick runs to it, and having finished his task finds himself seated at the table before a dish of bacon and cabbage, beside his new cousin "Phemie." Phemie is a blonde. Phemie has blue eyes. Phemie has fresh, rosy cheeks, and large caressing hands with which to fondle her "dear little cousin," promoted to the dignity of "Nicholas." The "guardian" obligingly retires after supper, leaving the two "cousins" to make acquaintance. Phemie pours out a glass of a certain white wine for "Nicholas." On the following day the acquaintance has progressed so well that Nicholas has no desire to leave. He has found his real guardian. Evil tongues are busy, but Phemie holds on to Nicholas and will never let go. "Have you some beautiful gold pieces?" she sometimes whispers in his ear. "Yes." "Will you tell me where they are?" "No." But this "no" is feeble, and when Phemie adds: "If you don't tell me, I sha'n't love you any more," Nicholas, by an expressive dumb show lets it be known that above all things he wishes to be loved. Months pass, and years. Little Nick lives in an ecstasy of bliss. His pleasure in work is less keen. But evidently he has compensations, for the fair Phemie is always with him. It is now five years since the witch rendered up her soul to the Devil. Not a day has passed, not a night, without Phemie questioning Little Nick about the treasure. The "Beast's" resistance has weakened to the point that when the "Beauty" asks him: "Will you show me where the gold pieces are?" he now answers "Yes." "Come, let us go," says Phemie, redoubling her caresses. Little Nick motions to her to wait, but sometimes he takes a few steps in the supposed direction of the treasure, and Phemie is convinced that she will soon finally wrest from him the secret of the undiscoverable hiding place.