some question of a stuffing of rosemary and onions."

"Ah, I see," said Peter, "I see that you're familiar with the
whole disgraceful story. Yes, Marietta, the unspeakable old
Tartar, was all for stuffing him with rosemary and onions. But
he could not bring himself to share her point of view. He
screamed his protest, like a man, in twenty different octaves.
You really should have heard him. His voice is of a compass,
of a timbre, of an expressiveness! Passive endurance, I fear,
is not his forte. For the sake of peace and silence, I
intervened, interceded. She had her knife at his very throat.
I was not an instant too soon. So, of course, I 've had to
adopt him."

"Of course, poor man," sympathised the Duchessa. "It's a
recognised principle that if you save a fellow's life, you 're
bound to him for the rest of yours. But--but won't you find
him rather a burdensome responsibility when he's grownup?" she
reflected.

"--Que voulez-vous?" reflected Peter. "Burdensome
responsibilities are the appointed accompaniments of man's
pilgrimage. Why not Francois Villon, as well as another? And
besides, as the world is at present organised, a member of the
class vulgarly styled 'the rich' can generally manage to shift
his responsibilities, when they become too irksome, upon the
backs of the poor. For example--Marietta! Marietta!" he
called, raising his voice a little, and clapping his hands.

Marietta came. When she had made her courtesy to the Duchessa,