and had put them clumsily away. The rank odor of tobacco, stealing up
the stairs, told him that Brossard had settled down to enjoy his evening
pipe. Through the casement window that was still ajar came the faint
notes of an accordeon from Monsieur Gréville's garden, across the way.
Gabriel, the coachman, was walking up and down in the moonlight, playing
a wheezy accompaniment to the only song he knew. Jules did not notice it
at first, but after awhile, when he had cried himself quiet, the faint
melody began to steal soothingly into his consciousness. His eyelids
closed drowsily, and then the accordeon seemed to be singing something
to him. He could not understand at first, but just as he was dropping
off to sleep he heard it quite clearly:

"Till the stars and the angels come to keep
Their watch, where my baby lies fast asleep."

Late in the night Jules awoke with a start, and sat up, wondering what
had aroused him. He knew that it must be after midnight, for the moon
was nearly down. Henri was snoring. Suddenly such a strong feeling of
hunger came over him, that he could think of nothing else. It was like a
gnawing pain. As if he were being led by some power outside of his own
will, he slipped to the door of the room. The little bare feet made no
noise on the carpetless floor. No mouse could have stolen down the
stairs more silently than timid little Jules. The latch of the kitchen
door gave a loud click that made him draw back with a shiver of alarm;
but that was all. After waiting one breathless minute, his heart beating
like a trip-hammer, he went on into the pantry.

The moon was so far down now, that only a white glimmer of light showed
him the faint outline of things; but his keen little nose guided him.
There was half a cheese on the swinging shelf, with all the bread that