"Adele dead!" exclaimed the girl, whose large, brilliant black eyes
were veiled in tears. "Your father to prison? This cannot be."
Stupefied by surprise, she looked alternately at the lapidary, his
wife, and the bailiffs.

"My pretty girl," said Bourdin approaching Miss Dimpleton, "you're
cool, you must try to make this poor man listen to reason; his little
girl is dead, but nevertheless he must come with us to Clichy--to the
debtors' prison. We are sheriffs' officers."

"It is, then, all true," said the girl.

"Quite true. The mother has the little one in her bed--they cannot
take it from her; and while she is hugging it there, the father ought
to take the opportunity of slipping out."

"My God! my God! what misery," said Miss Dimpleton. "What is to be
done?"

"Pay, or go to prison! there is no other way, unless you have notes
for two or three thousand francs to lend them," said Malicorne, in a
careless tone; "if you have them, _shell out_, and we will
_cut_, devilish glad to get away."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" said Miss Dimpleton, with indignation; "daring
to jest with such dreadful misfortunes."

"Well then, joking aside," replied the other bailiff, "if you would do
some good, endeavor to prevent the woman from seeing us take away her
husband. You will thus save each of them a very disagreeable quarter