"We must, however, make a finish; although the arrest of this beggar
is only for seventy-six francs, seventy-five centimes, it is only
right that we should swell the costs to two hundred and forty or fifty
francs. It is the _wolf_ who pays."

"You mean who has to _fork out_--for this poor devil here will
have to pay the fiddler, since it is he that must dance."

"By the time he has paid his creditor two thousand five hundred
francs, for principal, interest, costs, and all, he will be warm."

"It will not be then as now, for it freezes," said the bailiff,
blowing his fingers. "Come, old fellow, pack up and let us be off; you
can blubber as you go along. Who the devil can help the youngun's
kicking the bucket!"

"Besides, when people are so poor, they have no right to have
children."

"A good idea!" said Malicorne. Then slapping Morel on the shoulder, he
continued: "Come, come, old boy, we can wait no longer; since you
cannot pay, off to prison with you!"

"Prison!" said a pure, youthful voice; "Morel to prison!" A young,
bright, rosy brunette suddenly entered the garret.

"Oh, Miss Dimpleton!" said one of the children, crying; "you are so
good; save papa! they want to take him to prison, and little sister is
dead."