clung to De Breze for support. De Breze had the reputation of being the
most selfish of men. But at that moment, when a generous man might be
excused for being selfish enough to desire to keep the little that he had
for his own reprieve from starvation, this egotist became superb.
"Friends," he cried, with enthusiasm, "I have something yet in my pocket;
we will dine, all three of us."

"Dine!" faltered Lemercier. "Dine! I have not dined since I left the
hospital. I breakfasted yesterday--on two mice upon toast. Dainty, but
not nutritious. And I shared them with Fox."

"Fox! Fox lives still, then?" cried De Breze, startled.

"In a sort of way he does. But one mouse since yesterday morning is not
much; and he can't expect that every day."

"Why don't you take him out?" asked Savarin. "Give him a chance of
picking up a bone somewhere."

"I dare not; he would be picked up himself. Dogs are getting very
valuable: they sell for 50 francs apiece. Come, De Breze, where are we
to dine?"

"I and Savarin can dine at the London Tavern upon rat pate or jugged cat.
But it would be impertinence to invite a satrap like yourself who has a
whole dog in his larder--a dish of 50 francs--a dish for a king. Adieu,
my dear Frederic. Allons, Savarin."

"I feasted you on better meats than dog when I could afford it," said
Frederic, plaintively; "and the first time you invite me you retract the