"As true as that you are the cleverest ruffian upon earth, he said those very words; and, more than that, he – "
"Oh, then, if that is the case," said the Skeleton, "I shall make it up with him. Barbillon wanted to pick a quarrel with him, but I shall advise him to be quiet."
"That's right!" exclaimed Pique-Vinaigre, fully persuaded that he had effectually diverted from Germain the danger that threatened him; "that would be much the best way! For this poor chicken-hearted fellow would never quarrel, – simply because, like me, he has not pluck enough to fight; therefore it is no use getting into a dispute."
"Still," cried the Skeleton, "I am sorry, too, that we shall not have our fun; we had quite reckoned upon getting up a fight with Germain to amuse us after dinner. I don't know now what we shall do to kill the time."
"Ah, to be sure!" chimed in Nicholas. "What the deuce shall we do with ourselves? Can anybody tell me?"
"Well, then, I'll settle it!" said Barbillon. "Since you seem to recommend my leaving Germain alone, I'll agree to do so, on condition that Pique-Vinaigre tells us one of his best stories."
"Done!" exclaimed the story-teller. "But I must make one condition as well as you, and, without both are agreed to, I don't open my lips."
"Well, then, say what your other condition is. I dare say it is not more difficult than the former, and we soon agreed about that."
"It is that this honourable company, which is overstocked with riches," said the Pique-Vinaigre, resuming his old tone when addressing his audiences preparatory to commencing his juggling tricks, "will have the trifling kindness to club together and present me with the small sum of twenty sous, – a mere trifle, gents, when you are about to listen to the celebrated Pique-Vinaigre, who has had the honour of appearing before the most celebrated prigs of the day – he who is now expected at Brest or Toulon, by the special command of his majesty's government."
"Well, then, we'll stand the twenty sous after you have finished your story."
"After? – no – before!" said Pique-Vinaigre.
"What! Do you suppose us capable of doing you out of twenty sous?" asked the Skeleton, with an air of disdain.
"By no means!" replied Pique-Vinaigre. "I honour the stone jug with my confidence, and it is in order to economise its purse that I ask for twenty sous in advance."
"On your word and honour?"
"Yes, gentlemen; for, after my story, you will be so satisfied, that it is not twenty sous but twenty francs – a hundred francs – you will force me to take! I know that I should be shabby enough to accept them; and thus, you see, it is from consideration, and you will do wisely to give me twenty sous in advance."
"You don't want for the gift of the gab!"
"I have nothing but my tongue, and I must make use of that. And then, – if it must be told, – my sister and her children are in terrible distress, and, in a small house, even twenty sous is a consideration."
"Then why doesn't your sister prig, and her kids, too, if they're old enough?" asked Nicholas.
"Don't ask me; it distresses – dishonours me! I am too kind – "
"What do you mean, you fool? Why, you encourage her!"
"True; I encourage her in the vice of being honest, and that is the only line in which she shines. But come, it is agreed that I shall tell you my famous story of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half.' But you must hand out twenty sous, and Barbillon shall not pick a quarrel with this simpleton of a Germain!"
"Well, you shall have twenty sous, and Barbillon shall not pick a quarrel with that simpleton of a Germain," said the Skeleton.
"Then open your ears, and you will hear what you will hear! But it is raining, which will make the customers tumble in, and there will be no occasion to go out and seek them."
And the rain began to fall, and the prisoners, quitting the yard, took refuge in the day-room, the turnkey being still in attendance.
We have said that this room was large and long, with a pavement, and lighted by three windows, which looked out into the yard. In the centre was the stove, near which were the Skeleton, Barbillon, Nicholas, and Pique-Vinaigre. At a signal from the prévôt, the Gros-Boiteux joined this group. Germain was one of the last to enter, absorbed in most delightful thoughts, and he went mechanically to seat himself on the ledge at the lowest window in the apartment, a place he usually occupied, and which no one disputed with him, for it was at a distance from the stove around which the prisoners were assembled.
We have already said that some fifteen of the prisoners had been informed in the first instance of the treachery attributed to Germain, and the murder which was to avenge it. But, soon whispered to one another, the plan comprised as many adherents as there were prisoners; these ruffians, in their blind cruelty, considering this fearful plot as legitimate revenge, and viewing therein a certain guarantee against the future disclosure of spies. Germain, Pique-Vinaigre, and the turnkey were alone ignorant of what was about to take place. General attention was divided between the executioner, the victim, and the story-teller, who was about innocently to deprive Germain of the only succour he could hope for; for it is nearly sure that the turnkey, when he saw the prisoners attentive to the story of Pique-Vinaigre, would think his surveillance useless, and take advantage of that moment of tranquillity to go and take his meal. And when the prisoners had entered, the Skeleton said to the turnkey:
"Old fellow, Pique-Vinaigre has a capital idea; he is going to tell us his story of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half.' It is weather in which one would not put a policeman out-of-doors, and we shall quietly wait in till it is time to go to roost."
"Why, you are always pretty quiet when he begins his talk, and have no need for me to be at your heels."
"Yes," said the Skeleton; "but Pique-Vinaigre asks a high price, – he wants twenty sous for his story."
"Yes, the trifle of twenty sous, – a mere nothing!" cried Pique-Vinaigre. "Yes, gents, nothing; for who that had a liard would not bestow it to hear the adventures of poor little Gringalet, Cut-in-Half, and the wicked Gargousse? It will rend your hearts, and make your hair stand on end! And, gents, who is there that would not dispose of the paltry sum of four liards – or, if you prefer counting my mites, of five centimes – to have their hearts rent and their hair standing on end?"
"There are two sous," said the Skeleton, throwing down the piece of money before Pique-Vinaigre. "Come, is the stone-jug too niggardly to enjoy this pastime?" he added, looking at his accomplices with a significant air.
Several sous fell around him, to the great joy of Pique-Vinaigre, who thought of his sister as he collected the money.
"Eight – nine – ten – eleven – twelve – thirteen!" he said, as he picked up the money. "Now, my rich friends, my capitalists, and others of the cash interest, try once more. You cannot stop at thirteen, for it is an unlucky number! Only seven sous deficient, the trifle of seven sous! What, gents, shall it be said that the Fosse aux Lions could not produce seven sous – seven miserable sous? Oh, gents, gents, you would make me believe that you have been brought here very unjustly or that you have all had a sad run of ill luck."
The shrill voice and broad jests of Pique-Vinaigre had brought Germain from his reverie, and, as much to follow Rigolette's advice and make himself popular with the prisoners as to give a trifle to the poor devil who had testified some desire to be of service to him, he rose and threw a piece of ten sous at the tale-teller's feet, who exclaimed, as he pointed at his generous benefactor:
"Ten sous, gents! You see, I was speaking of capitalists! Honour to that gentleman! He behaves like one of the monied interest, as an ambassador to be agreeable to the company! Yes, gents; for it is to him that you will owe the greater portion of 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half,' and you will thank him for it. As to the three sous over, why, I shall earn them by imitating the voices of the personages, instead of speaking like you and me. That will be another obligation you will owe to this wealthy capitalist, whom you ought to adore."
"Come, no more blarney, but begin!" said the Skeleton.
"One moment, gents!" said Pique-Vinaigre. "It is but right that the capitalist who has given me ten sous should be the best situated, except our prévôt, who has first choice."
This proposal squared so well with the Skeleton's project that he exclaimed:
"True; after me he ought to be best placed!" And again he looked significantly at the prisoners.
"Yes, yes; let him come nearer," said the prisoners.
"Let him sit on the front bench."
"You see, young man, your liberality is recompensed; the honourable company sees that you have a right to the front seat," said Pique-Vinaigre to Germain.
Believing that his liberality had really better disposed his hateful companions in his favour, and delighted thus to follow up Rigolette's earnest desires, Germain, in spite of considerable repugnance, left the place of his choice, and went towards the story-teller, who, having arranged four or five benches around the stove, by the aid of Nicholas and Barbillon, said, with emphasis:
"Here are the dress-boxes. All respect to the worthy – the capitalist first."
"Now, then, let those who have paid take their seats," added Pique-Vinaigre, gaily, firmly believing that, thanks to himself, Germain had nothing now to fear. "And those who have not paid," he added, "will sit down or stand up, which they please."
Let us sum up the arrangement of his scene. Pique-Vinaigre was standing up near the stove ready to commence; near him was the Skeleton, also standing up, and with his eyes intently fixed on Germain, ready to rush upon him the moment the turnkey left the cell. At some distance from Germain, Nicholas, Barbillon, Cardillac, and other prisoners, amongst whom was the man with the blue cotton nightcap and gray blouse, occupying the remoter benches. The majority of prisoners, grouped here and there, some sitting on the ground, others standing and leaning against the wall, composed the secondary figures of this picture, lighted, à la Rembrandt, by three lateral windows, which threw strong light and deep shadows on forms so variously characterised and so strongly marked. The turnkey, whose departure was to be, unknown to himself, the signal for Germain's murder, kept close to the door, which was ajar.
"Are we all ready?" asked Pique-Vinaigre of the Skeleton.
"Silence in the stone-jug!" said the latter, turning half around; and then addressing Pique-Vinaigre, "Now, begin; we are all attention!"
CHAPTER XI
GRINGALET AND CUT-IN-HALF
Pique-Vinaigre began his recital thus, in the midst of the profound silence of his auditory:
"It is no inconsiderable time ago that the story occurred which I am about to relate to this honourable company. What was called La Petite Pologne was not then destroyed. The honourable society knows (or does not know) what was called La Petite Pologne?"
"Well enough!" said the prisoner in the blue cap; "they were some small houses near the Rue du Rocher and the Rue de la Pépinière?"
"Exactly so, my dear sir," replied Pique-Vinaigre; "and the Quartier of the Cité, which, at the same time, does not consist of palaces, would be in comparison to La Petite Pologne the Rue de la Paix or the Rue de Rivoli. What a rookery! but, at the same time, very convenient for gents in our line. There were no streets but narrow alleys, no houses but ruins, no pavement but a small carpet of mud and dungheaps, which would have destroyed all the noise of wheels, – that is, supposing any carriages passed by that way; but none did! From morn till night, and, particularly, from night till morn, there were only heard cries of 'Watch! Watch! Help! Murder!' but the watch took no notice. The more persons were knocked on the head in La Petite Pologne, the fewer persons there were to apprehend. You should have seen the respectable inhabitants who lived there! There were very few jewellers, goldsmiths, and bankers; but then, on the other hand, there were quantities of organ-grinders, puppet-showmen, punches, and showers of remarkable animals. Amongst the latter was one well known as Cut-in-Half, – he was so cruel, and especially to children. He acquired this name because it was reported that he had cut a small Savoyard in two with a blow of his hatchet."
At this moment the prison clock struck a quarter past three o'clock. The prisoners being made to return to their cells at four o'clock, the Skeleton's murderous design must be carried into execution before that hour.
"Mille tonnerres! The turnkey won't go!" he said, in a low tone, to Gros-Boiteux.
"Be easy! He'll go when once the story is begun."
Pique-Vinaigre continued: "No one knew where Cut-in-Half came from. Some said he was an Italian, others a Bohemian, others a Turk, others an African; the gossips called him a magician, although a magician in our times would be something to look at. What made them believe this was, that he always had with him a large red monkey called Gargousse, and who was so cunning and savage that he seemed as if possessed by the devil. I shall mention this beauty again presently; as to Cut-in-Half, I shall soon describe him. His complexion was like the old tops of a pair of jockey-boots, his hair as red as the hair of his monkey, his eyes green, and (what made the women think he was a conjuror) he had a black tongue."
"A black tongue!" exclaimed Barbillon.
"Black as ink!" replied Pique-Vinaigre.
"And how did that happen?"
"Because, no doubt, when his mother was in the family way she had, perhaps, talked of a negro," said Pique-Vinaigre, with modest assurance. "To these attractions Cut-in-Half joined the profession of having a multitude of tortoises, monkeys, guinea-pigs, white mice, foxes, and marmosettes, corresponding to an equivalent total of Savoyards and forsaken children. Every morning he distributed his animal to each, and a morsel of black bread, and then despatched them to beg for 'Only one ha'penny!' or dance the Catarina. Those who only brought in at night fifteen sous were beaten, soundly beaten, so that their shrieks might be heard from one end of La Petite Pologne to the other. I should also say that there was in La Petite Pologne a man called Le Doyen (the Dean), because he was the 'oldest inhabitant,' and, as it were, mayor, provost, magistrate, for it was in his room (he kept a Tom and Jerry shop) that all went when they could not otherwise decide their quarrels. Although rather aged, yet Le Doyen was as strong as Hercules, and very generally feared. They swore by him in La Petite Pologne; and when he said 'Very good!' all the world said 'Very good!' When he said 'That's bad!' all the world said 'That's bad!' He was a good fellow at bottom, but very fierce, particularly when the strong misused the weak, – then look out for squalls! As he was Cut-in-Half's nearest neighbour, he had heard the children cry very frequently from the blows which the shower of beasts gave them. He had said to him, 'If I hear the children cry, I will make you cry in your turn; and, as you have the stronger voice, I will give you the severer beating.'"
"Well done, Le Doyen! I like Le Doyen!" said the prisoner in the blue nightcap.
"So do I!" added the turnkey, as he approached the group.
The Skeleton could not repress a movement of angry impatience.
Pique-Vinaigre proceeded:
"Thanks to Le Doyen, who had threatened Cut-in-Half, the cries of the children were heard no more in the night-time in La Petite Pologne; but the poor, unhappy little fellows did not suffer the less, for if they cried no longer when their master beat them, it was because they were afraid of being more cruelly beaten. As to complaining to Le Doyen, they had no idea of that. For the fifteen sous which each little fellow was obliged to bring in, Cut-in-Half lodged, boarded, and clothed them. In the evening a bit of black bread, as at breakfast, – this was their food. He never gave them clothes, – that was the way he clothed them; and he shut them up at night with their animals, on the same straw in a garret, to which they mounted by a ladder and a trap, – this was the lodging. When once all had ascended, and the tale of children and animals was complete, he took away the ladder and locked the trap.
"You may judge of the life and row which these monkeys, guinea-pigs, foxes, mice, tortoises, marmosettes, and children made all in the dark in this cock-loft, which was as big as a barn. Cut-in-Half slept in a room underneath, with his great ape, Gargousse, fastened to the foot of his bed. When the brute growled, because there was too much noise in the loft, the beast-shower went up the ladder without any light, and, going into the loft, laid about him right and left with a heavy whip, without seeing or counting his blows. As there were always some fifteen children, and some of the poor dears brought him in twenty sous a day, Cut-in-Half having defrayed all his outlay, which was by no means excessive, had left for himself some four or five francs a day, with which he enjoyed himself, for it must be told that he was one of the greatest tipplers that ever lived, and was regularly blind drunk once a day. That was his rule; and he declared that, but for that, he should have the headache every day. We should add, that out of his gains he used to buy some sheeps' hearts for Gargousse, who ate raw flesh like a cannibal. But I see the honourable society are anxious to be introduced to Gringalet! Here he is, gents!"
"Let's have Gringalet, and I'll go and eat my soup," said the turnkey.
The Skeleton exchanged a look of savage satisfaction with the Gros-Boiteux.
"Amongst the children to whom Cut-in-Half distributed his animals," continued Pique-Vinaigre, "was a poor little devil named Gringalet. Without father or mother, brother or sister, without fire, food, or shelter, he was alone in the world, – quite alone in a world which he had not asked to enter, and which he might leave without attracting any one's attention. He was not called Gringalet for any pleasure he had in the name, for he was meagre, lean, and pallid; he did not look above seven or eight years old, but was really thirteen. If he did not seem more than half his name, it was not because of his own will, but because he only fed perhaps every other day, and then so scantily, so poorly, that it was really an exertion to make him pass for seven years old."
"Poor little brat! I think I see him!" said the prisoner in the blue cotton nightcap; "there are so many children like him on the streets of Paris dying of hunger!"
"They must begin to learn that way of living very young in order to get accustomed to it," said Pique-Vinaigre, with a bitter smile.
"Come, get on!" said the Skeleton, suddenly; "the turnkey is getting impatient – his soup is getting cold."
"Oh, never mind that!" said the surveillant. "I wish to know something more of Gringalet; it is very amusing!"
"Yes, it is really very interesting!" added Germain, who was very attentive to the story.
"Ah, thank ye for saying that, my capitalist," said Pique-Vinaigre; "that gives me more satisfaction than your ten-sous' piece."
"Tonnerre!" exclaimed the Skeleton, "will you have done with your delays?"
"Well, then," replied Pique-Vinaigre, "one day Cut-in-Half had picked up Gringalet in the streets, dying with cold and hunger; perhaps it would have been best if he had let him die. As Gringalet was weak, he was a coward; as he was a coward, he became the jest and sport of the other lads, who beat him and used him so ill that he would have become wicked if he had not been deficient in strength and courage. But no; when he had been heartily thumped, he cried, and said, 'I have not done any harm to anybody, and everybody is unkind to me, – that's very cruel; oh, if I were strong and bold!' You will, perhaps, imagine that Gringalet was about to add, 'I would return to others the ill they do to me?' By no means. He said,' Oh, if I were strong and bold, I would defend the weak against the strong, for I am weak, and the strong have made me suffer!' In the meanwhile, as he was too small a boy to prevent the strong from ill-using the weak, beginning with himself, he prevented the larger brutes from eating the smaller ones."
"What a strange idea!" said the prisoner in the blue cap.
"And, what is stranger still," said the tale-teller, "it was this idea that consoled Gringalet for being beaten; which proves that his heart was not bad at bottom."
"Pardieu! Quite the contrary," said the guardian. "What an amusing devil that Pique-Vinaigre is!"
At this instant the chimes went half past three o'clock. The Skeleton and Gros-Boiteux exchanged significant glances. The time was drawing on, and the surveillant did not go; and some of the less hardened prisoners seemed almost to forget the sinister projects of the Skeleton against Germain, as they listened attentively to Pique-Vinaigre's recital.
"When I say," he continued, "that Gringalet prevented the larger brutes from eating the smaller, you must understand that Gringalet did not mix himself up with tigers, and lions, and wolves, or even foxes and monkeys, in the menagerie of Cut-in-Half, – he was too much of a coward for that; but if he saw, for instance, a spider hidden in his web, in wait for a poor foolish fly flying gaily in the sunshine of the good God, without hurting any one, why, in a moment, Gringalet smashed the web, freed the fly, and did for the spider like a regular Cæsar, – a real Cæsar; for he turned as white as a sheet in touching such nasty reptiles; and then it required resolution in him, who was afraid of a cockchafer, and had been a long while in forming an intimacy with the tortoise which Cut-in-Half handed to him every morning. Thus Gringalet, overcoming the fear which the spider caused him, in order to prevent flies from being eaten, proved himself – "
"As plucky in his way as a man who attacks a wolf to take a lamb from his jaws," said the prisoner in the blue cap.
"Or a man who would have attacked Cut-in-Half to take Gringalet from his clutches," added Barbillon, who was deeply interested.
"As you say," continued Pique-Vinaigre; "so that after one of these onslaughts Gringalet did not feel himself so unhappy. He who never laughed, smiled, looked about him, cocked his cap on one side (when he had one), and hummed the 'Marseillaise' with the air of a conqueror. At this moment, there was not a spider that dared to look him in the face. Another time it was a grasshopper which was swimming and struggling in a brook; in a moment, Gringalet put his two fingers boldly in the water and rescued the grasshopper, which he put on the grass. A first-class swimmer, who had fished up his tenth drowning man at fifty francs a head, could not have been prouder than Gringalet when he saw his grasshopper bend his legs and jump away. And yet the grasshopper gave him neither money nor medal, nor uttered any more thanks than did the fly. But then, Pique-Vinaigre, worthy friend, the honourable company will say to me, what the devil pleasure could Gringalet, whom all the world thumped and buffeted, find in freeing grasshoppers and destroying spiders? Since people were unkind to him, why did he not take his revenge by doing all the evil in his power? For instance, in giving spiders flies to eat, leaving grasshoppers to drown, or even drowning them on purpose?"
"Yes, why not? Why did he not revenge himself in that way?" asked Nicholas.
"What good would that have been?" inquired another.
"Why, to do ill, as ill was done to him."
"No! Well, then, I understand he liked to save the flies, poor little chap!" said the man in a blue cap. "He said, perhaps, 'Who knows if some day they mayn't save me in the same way?'"
"My right worthy friend is right," cried Pique-Vinaigre, "and has read in his heart what I was about to narrate to the honourable assembly. Gringalet was not wicked; he did not see beyond the end of his nose; but he said,'Cut-in-Half is my spider, and perhaps some day some one will do for me what I do for the other poor little flies, – break his web and take me from his clutches;' for till then nothing could have induced him to run away from his master; he would as soon have thought of killing himself. However, one day, when neither he nor his tortoise had had a chance, and had not gained between either of them more than three sous, Cut-in-Half beat the poor child very severely, so severely that, ma foi! Gringalet could not stand it any longer; and, tired of being the butt and martyr of everybody, he watched a moment when the trap was open, and, whilst Cut-in-Half was feeding his animals, he slid down the ladder."
"Oh, so much the better," said a prisoner.
"But why didn't he go and complain to the Doyen?" inquired the blue cap; "he would have served Cut-in-Half out."
"Yes, but he dared not; he was too much afraid, and preferred trying to escape. Unfortunately, Cut-in-Half had seen him, and, seizing him by the wrist, lugged him up again into the loft. Poor Gringalet, thinking of what must befall him, shuddered all over, although he was by no means at the end of his troubles. Apropos of Gringalet's troubles, I must now mention to you Gargousse, the large and favourite ape of Cut-in-Half. This mischievous brute was, ma foi! taller than Gringalet; only imagine what a size for a monkey! I must tell you why he was never taken into the streets to be shown, like the other animals of the menagerie: it was because Gargousse was so wicked and powerful that there was not one amongst all the show-boys, except an Auvergnat of fourteen, a determined chap, who, after many skirmishes and contests with Gargousse, had mastered him, and could lead him about with a chain; and even with him Gargousse frequently got up some fights, which ended in bloodshed produced by Gargousse's bites. Enraged at this, the little Auvergnat said, one fine day, 'Very well, I will revenge myself on this infernal monkey;' and so, one morning, having gone out with the brute as usual, he, in order to appease its savageness, bought a sheep's heart. Whilst Gargousse was eating it, he put a rope through the end of his chain, tied it to a tree, and, when he had got the brute quite at his mercy, he gave it an outrageous walloping."
"Well done! Bravo the Auvergnat! Go it, my lad! Skin the beast alive!" said the prisoners.
"He did whack him gloriously!" continued Pique-Vinaigre. "And you should have seen how Gargousse cried, ground his teeth, leaped, danced, and skipped hither and thither; but the Auvergnat used his stick famously! Unfortunately, monkeys, like cats, are very tenacious of life. Gargousse was as crafty as he was vicious; and when he saw, as they say, how the wood was on fire, at a heavy blow he made a final bound, and fell flat at the foot of a tree, shook for a moment, and then shammed dead, lying as motionless as a log. The Auvergnat believed he had done for him, and, thinking the ape dead, he cut away, resolved never again to return to Cut-in-Half. But the beast Gargousse watched him out of the corner of his eye, and, bruised and wounded as he was, as soon as he saw himself alone he rent the cord asunder with his teeth. The Boulevard Monceaux, where he had had this hiding, was close to La Petite Pologne, and the monkey knew his way as easy as his paternoster; and, making off in that direction, arrived at his master's, who roared and foamed when he saw how his monkey had been served. This is not all. From this moment Gargousse entertained such a furious revenge against all children that Cut-in-Half, who was not the tenderest soul alive, dared not trust him to any one for fear of an accident; for Gargousse was capable of strangling or devouring a child, and all the little brute-showers, knowing that, would rather be thrashed by Cut-in-Half than go near the monkey."
"I must really go and eat my soup," said the turnkey, turning towards the door; "this devil of a Pique-Vinaigre would wheedle a bird down from a tree to hear him! I can't tell where the deuce he fishes up all he tells!"
"Now, then, the turnkey will go," said the Skeleton, in a whisper to the Gros-Boiteux. "I'm in such a rage I shake all over! Mind and form a wall all around the informer, – I will take care of the rest!"
"Mind, now, and be good boys!" said the turnkey, turning towards the door.
"As good as images!" replied the Skeleton, coming closer to Germain, whilst the Gros-Boiteux and Nicholas, after having agreed on a signal, made two steps in the same direction.
"Ah, worthy turnkey, you are going at the most interesting moment!" said Pique-Vinaigre, with an air of reproach.
Had it not been for the Gros-Boiteux, who anticipated his intention, and seized him suddenly by the arm, the Skeleton would have rushed on Pique-Vinaigre.
"What! The most interesting moment?" replied the turnkey, turning towards the story-teller.
"Decidedly," said Pique-Vinaigre; "you do not know all you will lose, – the most delightful portion of the history is now about to commence."
"Don't attend to him," exclaimed the Skeleton, who with difficulty repressed his rage; "he is not in good trim to-day; for my part I think his story very stupid."
"My story very stupid?" cried Pique-Vinaigre, wounded in his pride as a tale-teller. "Well, turnkey, I beg of you, – I entreat you to remain till the conclusion, which, at most, will not be longer than a quarter of an hour, and as by this time your soup must be cold, why, you haven't much to lose by a little delay. I will go ahead with my narrative, so that you may still have time to eat your soup before we are locked up for the night."
"Well, then, I'll stay, but make haste," said the turnkey, coming closer towards him.
"You are wise to stay, turnkey," continued Pique-Vinaigre; "without bragging, you never heard anything like it before, especially the finale, which is the triumph of the ape, and Gringalet escorted in procession by all the little beast-showers and inhabitants of La Petite Pologne. On my word and honour, it is not for the sake of boasting, but it is really superb."