up an acknowledgment according to the established formula. However, it was necessary to mention the name of the creditor of whom he had spoken, and not wishing to state his own, he used that of poor Victor Chupin, who was at that very moment shivering at the door, little suspecting what liberty was being taken with his cognomen.     

       “Chupin!” repeated the vixen, as if to engrave the name on her memory;       “Victor Chupin! I should just like to see him,” she added, viciously.     

       When the document was finished, it became necessary to wake Vantrasson, so that he might sign it. He did so with very good grace, and his wife appended her signature beside her husband’s. Thereupon M. Fortunat gave them in exchange the note which had served as a pretext for his visit.       “And above all,” he remarked, as he opened the door to go, “don’t forget that you are to pay something on account each month.”      

       “Go to the devil, and your account with you!” growled Madame Vantrasson.     

       But Fortunat did not hear this. He was already walking down the road by the side of Chupin, who was saying: “Well, here you are, at last, m’sieur! I thought you had taken a lease of that old barrack. If ever I come here again, I’ll bring a foot-warmer with me.”      

       But one of those fits of profound abstraction to which determined seekers after truth are subject had taken possession of M. Fortunat, and made him oblivious of all surrounding circumstances. His heart had been full of hope when he reached the Asnieres Road, but he went away gloomy and despondent; and quite unconscious of the darkness, the mud, and the rain, which was again falling, he silently plodded along in the middle of the highway. Chupin was obliged to stop him at the city gate, and remind him that the cab was waiting.     

       “That’s true,” was M. Fortunat’s only answer. He entered the vehicle, certainly without knowing it; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughts that filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue, of which Chupin now and then caught a few words. “What a piece of business!”        he muttered—“what a piece of business! I’ve had seven years’        experience in such matters, and yet I’ve never met with an affair so shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precarious condition. Certainly I’ve 

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