was recognised as a member of his august
family.

It is not my intention to give the order of
the day at the Prison de Clichy. It is enough
for me to say that a week—a long, dreary,
seven-day week, in which every hour seemed
to move with a drag on each foot—passed
away. Nor will I weary my readers with
details of what reflections I made during
these leisure moments on the absurdity of
my conduct, of the strange obstinacy with
which I resolved to remain absurd. Suffice
it to say, that in my more wicked moments
I thought my sudden disappearance would
create consternation and alarm in the breast
of M. Gigot and family; and that this strange
revenge savoured of consolation.

The eighth day arrived, and nearly every
one except myself was waiting impatiently;
for the clock to strike the signal of admission to
a crowd of mothers, and sisters, and wives, and
brothers, and friends and relations, who were
outside, anxious to come in, and cheer, or at
least lighten, the life of those incarcerated.
There were some, however, who had waited;
till the heart grew sick with expectation, till
its very strings had ceased to vibrate to the
impulses of the outer world, and who had
sunk down into an apathetic state in which
neither hopings nor longings found a place.
I was talking to such an one, who had been
an inhabitant of the prison for years, and who
never troubled his repose with the idea of
release, when I was startled by a lusty voice
behind me.

"The scoundrel Griffe!" it exclaimed, and
at the same moment a hard palpable
stance weighed heavily on my shoulders. It
was the hand of the père Gigot.

"Why did you not send to us? What is
this all about? That villanous Griffe (this
was said with a clenched fist)—let me know
the truth—I will have nothing more to do
with him." And a flood of questions followed,
which it was impossible to reply to for the
flood of exclamations that overtook them.

When M. Gigot had sufficiently exhausted
himself to be for an instant calm, he explained
to me, that it was only late the evening before
that they (for Antoine was with him) had
learnt where I was; that he and the whole
family had been in the greatest distress about
me; that he loved me better than a son; that
there was nothing that he would not do for
me; that he only wished to know if I really
did owe that rascally Griffe the money, to
release me at once from my confinement.

A man must be in a most dismal state of
mind who could feel unmoved by, or would
dare to resist, such a torrent of generosity.
I felt foolish, to say the least of it, and would
willingly have found a corner wherein to hide
my diminished head, could I have found it.
Shame and confusion of face overwhelmed
me; and it was with difficulty that I could
respond to these fine sentiments of M. Gigot,
and confess the right of M. Griffe to five
hundred of my francs. No sooner, however, had
I done so, than my worthy friend was off at a
tangent. I should not remain there an hour,
he exclaimed, and vanished through the
doorway.

Meanwhile Antoine remained, and gave a
history of the week. He spoke it out plainly.
"It appears," he said, "that you had offended
the Gigots; but how, I don't know. They say
so; and that is, I understand, the reason you
were not at the dance on Julie's birthday.
When it was found that you had been absent
that day from the atelier, and the next, and
the next, and that you were not at your own
rooms, but that everything was found there in
its proper order and disposition, it was noised
abroad, that you had made away with yourself.
The père Gigot knew not how to
restrain himself. He declared that it was all
his fault. The mère Gigot tried to console
him the best way she could. Julie was
always in tears, and Georgette, I fear—but no
matter. Persons were sent to watch at the
Morgue, and information given to the police;
and it was not till late last night that we
knew where you were, and that you were
detained by means of Griffe. The père Gigot
has been in a restless state ever since. It
was impossible to get at you last night, and
this morning we had to wait three-quarters
of an hour—"

"And a mighty deal can be done in three-
quarters of an hour, when one is determined,"
quoth the same sturdy benevolent voice that
had once before startled me that morning.
"It is not three-quarters of an hour since I
left, and in the meantime I have paid that
scamp Griffe, given him his congé, and
liberated a friend," continued M. Gigot, giving
me a grasp of the hand that at any other time
would have made me wince from such amiable
demonstrations. "Not a moment must be
lost," said this worthy father, dragging me
off almost unconsciously; for, it must be
confessed, I was still stupified with shame,
"Madame Gigot is waiting breakfast for us,
and she does not love to have her hours
interfered with."

In less than half an hour, we were at the
Rue Ménilmontant. It did not take long to
explain and apologise. It appeared that M.
Gigot, in the first heat of his indignation
against me, had made a confidant of M. Griffe,
and related the whole affair of that morning,
which especial performance I found had been
witnessed by Madame Gigot through a small
open room that escaped my notice. Griffe had
seen through the action, had got me out of the
way, and a day or two afterwards had come to
make a formal proposal of the hand of Julie
for his son. Gigot would not hear of it,
though Madame Gigot thought it would not
be so bad a match. Julie was astounded;
and before any of them had time to appreciate
M. Griffe's proposition, news came of my
disappearance. A re-action took place in my
favour. The rest is known.