"Ah, ah!" I congratulate myself,--"is it not a fine thing to be the
instrument of a special providence?"

It is pleasant to think of the Mouse during all that journey, and if we
are never so tired, it rests us to say, "I wonder where the Mouse is by
this time?" When we get home, and coldly count up our expenses, we rejoice
in the five francs lent to the Mouse. "And I know he will pay it back if
ever he can," I say. "That was a Mouse of integrity."

Two weeks later comes a comely young woman, with a young child--a child
strong on its legs, a child which tries to open every thing in the room,
which wants to pull the cloth off the table, to throw itself out of the
open window--a child of which I have never seen the peer for restlessness
and curiosity. This young woman has been directed to call on me as a
person likely to pay her way to Ferrara. "But who sent you? But, in fine,
why should I pay your way to Ferrara? I have never seen you before."

"My husband, whom you benefited on his way to Ancona, sent me. Here is his
letter and the card you gave him."

I call out to my fellow-victim,--"My dear, here is news of the Mouse!"

"Don't _tell_ me he's sent you that money already!"

"Not at all. He has sent me his wife and child, that I may forward them to
him at Ferrara, out of my goodness, and the boundless prosperity which has
followed his good wishes--I, who am a great signor in his eyes, and an
insatiable giver of five-franc pieces--the instrument of a perpetual
special providence. The Mouse has found work at Ferrara, and his wife