"I ask your pardon for the sixty francs," finally muttered the laundress. "I was like a crazy person. I thought of you."

"Oh! it's not worth while, you are excusable," interrupted the blacksmith, "and you know I am always at your service if you are in trouble. But don't say anything to my mother, because she has her own ideas and I don't like to contradict her."

Gervaise still looked at him, and seeing him so good, so sadlooking, with his fine yellow beard, was on the point of accepting his former proposition, to leave with him and be happy together somewhere. Just then a perverse thought entered her head, which was to borrow from him her two months' arrear of rent, at no matter what cost. She hesitated and resumed in an affectionate tone:

"We are not angry, are we?"

He shook his head in replying:

Only, you

"Certainly not, we shall never get angry. understand, all is ended," and he strode off, leaving Gervaise bewildered, his last words ringing in her ears like a parting knell.

Upon entering the wine dealer's Gervaise heard within her heart the echo of the words: "All is ended." "Well, if all is ended," she reflected, "then I have nothing more to do." Seating herself she swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese and emptied also a glass of wine that stood before her.

It was a long room, on the ground floor, with a low ceiling, and occupied by two large tables. Liters of wine, pieces of bread, and triangles of Brie cheese upon three plates were laid out in line. The company lunched without a spread or even plates. At a distance the four undertaker's men were finishing their breakfast.

"Mon Dieu!" explained Mr. Madinier, "each one in his turn. The old make room for the young. Your lodging will appear quite empty when you return," he said, addressing Coupeau.

"Oh! my brother gives it up," said Madame Lorilleux, sharply. "That barrack is a ruin."

Coupeau had been played upon by active fingers. Everybody pressed him to relinquish the lease. Madame Lerat herself, upon good terms with Lantier and Virginia, and tickled with the idea that they must fancy one another, spoke of bankruptcy and the jail, in assuming a frightened appearance. Sud

denly the tinsmith got angry, and excited by liquor, spoke ferociously.

"Listen," he shouted in his wife's face, "I insist upon your listening to me! Your head always has its own way. But, this time, I notify you, I shall follow mine."

“Ah, well!” said Lantier, in response to Coupeau, "if she is ever to have a sensible idea, you will require a mallet to knock it into her skull."

And both of them got at her. This did not prevent, however, jaws from masticating. The cheese disappeared, and the liters of wine flowed like fountains. Gervaise silently continued with her mouth full to chew hastily, as if very hungry. When they relaxed somewhat in their talk, she raised her head quietly, and said:

"That's enough, eh? What do I care for the shop! I don't want it do you understand, I don't want it! All is ended!"

Then, some fresh bread and cheese being ordered, they talked business. The Poissons would take the lease, and offered to answer for the two last terms. Boche accepted this arrangement with an important air, in the name of the landlord. He even let to the Coupeaus, before leaving, a vacant apartment on the sixth floor, in the same corridor with the Lorilleux's. As for Lantier, he would like to keep his room, if it did not inconvenience the Poissons. The policeman bowed his assent. It did not incommode him in the least; friends could always understand one another, notwithstanding political differences. And Lantier, without further intermeddling, like a person who has concluded his bargain, prepared himself an enormous sandwich of Brie cheese, which he ate heartily while leaning back in his chair, chuckling with joy, and eying Gervaise and Virginia in turn.

66

Hey! Dad Bazouge!" called out Coupeau, "come, take a drink, we're not proud. All of us are workers."

The four undertaker's men, who were leaving, returned to drink with the company. It was not a reproach, but the old woman weighed her load, and was well worth her glass of wine. Dad Bazouge stared at the laundress without uttering an improper word. She raised herself, feeling ill at ease, and left as the men had about finished chaffing one another. Coupeau, drunk as a lord, recommenced blubbering, and said it was grief.

In the evening, when Gervaise reached home, she seated herself stupidly on a chair. The rooms appeared barren and deserted. Truly, things looked very gloomy, for it was not only Mamma Coupeau she had buried this day in the little garden patch of Marcadet Street; there were also her little shop, her former pride of mistress, and still other sentiments. Yes, the walls were bare, as well as her heart. It was a complete fall, and she felt very sore, though still hoping to pick up later in a luckier and brighter future.

THE MORTGAGE.

BY WILL M. CARLETON.
[1845-.]

WE worked through spring and winter-through summer and through fall

But the mortgage worked the hardest and the steadiest of us all;
It worked on nights and Sundays-it worked each holiday-
It settled down among us, and it never went away.
Whatever we kept from it seemed a'most as bad as theft;
It watched us every minute, and it ruled us right and left.
The rust and blight were with us sometimes, and sometimes not;
The dark-browed, scowling mortgage was forever on the spot.
The weevil and the cutworm, they went as well as came;
The mortgage stayed forever, eating hearty all the same.
It nailed up every window stood guard at every door-
And happiness and sunshine made their home with us no more.

Till with failing crops and sickness we got stalled upon the grade,
And there came a dark day on us when the interest wasn't paid;
And there came a sharp foreclosure, and I kind o' lost my hold,
And grew weary and discouraged, and the farm was cheaply sold.
The children left and scattered when they hardly yet were grown;
My wife she pined an' perished, an' I found myself alone.
What she died of was "a mystery," an' the doctors never knew;
But I knew she died of mortgage-just as well's I wanted to.
If to trace a hidden sorrow were within the doctors' art,
They'd ha' found a mortgage lying on that woman's broken heart.
Worm or beetle-drought or tempest-on a farmer's land may

fall;

But for first-class ruination, trust a mortgage 'gainst them all.