“Ah!” cried Cigarette, with a volley of slang utterly untranslatable, “that is how you treat your betters, is it? Miser, monster, crocodile, serpent! He wanted the money and you refused it? Ah! son of Satan! You live on other men's miseries! Run after him, quick, and give him this, and this, and this, and this; and say you were only in jest, and that the things were worth a Sheik's ransom. Stay! You must not give him too much, or he will know it is not you--viper! Run quick, and breath a word about me, if you dare; one whisper only, and my Spahis shall cut your throat from ear to ear. Off! Or you shall have a bullet to quicken your steps; misers dance well when pistols play the minuet!” With which exordium the little Amie du Drapeau shook her culprit at every epithet, emptied out a shower of gold and silver just won at play, from the bosom of her uniform, forced it into the dealer's hands, hurled him out of his own door, and drew her pretty weapon with a clash from her sash. “Run for your life!--and do just what I bid you; or a shot shall crash your skull in as sure as my name is Cigarette!” The little old Jew flew as fast as his limbs would carry him, clutching the coins in his horny hands. He was terrified to a mortal anguish, and had not a thought of resisting or disobeying her; he knew the fame of Cigarette--as who did not? Knew that she would fire at a man as carelessly as at a cat,--more carelessly, in truth,--for she favored cats; saving many from going to the Zouaves' soup-caldrons, and favored civilians not at all; and knew that at her rallying cry all the sabers about the town would be drawn without a second's deliberation, and sheathed in anything or anybody that had offended her, for Cigarette was, in her fashion, Generalissima of all the Regiments of Africa. The dealer ran with all the speed of terror, and overtook Cecil, who was going slowly onward to the barracks. “Are you serious?” he asked in surprise at the large amount, as the little Jew panted out apologies, entreaties, and protestations of his only having been in jest, and of his fervently desiring to buy the carvings at his own price, as he knew of a great collector in Paris to whom he needed to send them. “Serious! Indeed am I serious, M. le Caporal,” pleaded the curiosity-trader, turning his head in agonized fear to see if the vivandiere's pistol was behind him. “The things will be worth a great deal to me where I shall send them, and though they are but bagatelles, what is Paris itself but one bagatelle? Pouf! They are all children there--they will love the toys. Take the money, I pray you; take the money!” Cecil looked at him a moment; he saw the man was in earnest, and thought but little of his repentance and trepidation, for the citizens were all afraid of slighting or annoying a soldier.