"Poor dear," continued Nabot, laughing to tears, "don't be discouraged. Valor! Yet another grunt! Stronger! there-well-that's the way!"

"He will conquer!-He will not! I told you he would conquer!—I told you not-Let us bet-There, he is choking!"

"For God's sake, my love, at least do not break that bone. I will keep it; I will preserve it as a relic, in order to make a tooth-pick!"

The peals of laughter were redoubled.

However, the affair was not laughable in itself; and Francis Rivet did not laugh. His countenance, livid, and marked with red spots, contracted with pain, his mouth open and inundated with saliva and blood, his large staring eyes, of which the pupils hid under the lids; his body agitated with spasmodic movements, presented a horrible picture, whilst the cavernous sounds which grated in escaping from his breast, would have frozen with fright any other spectators than those which surrounded

him.

“What a head!” said the incorrigible dwarf. "Is there no painter among us ?"

"Why is Signor Titian dead ?" added a Piedmontese.

"Ah, but," pursued Nabot, "Christian charity requires us to pray for those in pain. Let us, then, pray for our unfortunate companion drawing his last breath."

"De profundis clamavi," stammered Grosbec. "To die of a fish-bone is a lamentable destiny. Regretted Brise

tout, I will compose an elegy on his death. I will sing of his stoicism in suffering. I will deliver his funeral oration with the accompaniment of a Jew's harp and a wooden corn-creak."

"There is your epitaph, dear cherubim," said Nabot. “Hear and judge, before sacrificing yourself in the prime of life, to the worms of the grave."

Gross as this buffoonery was, it had the effect of bringing to a climax the good humor of the bandits, who clapped their hands with frenzy; for nothing is more acceptable to the vulgar than that which humbles a superior being.

But the thing had been carried too far. Irritated by excrutiating pain, the victim of their farce suddenly pounced on his tormentors, like a bull exasperated by the lances of the picadors, seized Grosbec by one hand, and Nabot with the other, lifted them off the ground, held them a moment in the air, and with his eye covered with blood, his lips with foam, he was going to knock their heads against each other, when an insupportable spasm forced him to loosen his grasp. Brise-tout returned, uttering a suffocating cry. Behind him stood Maleficieux, who, armed with a burning stick, thought it well to apply the extremity to the cheek of the giant, as the only means of saving the imprudents fallen in the power of his rage. Insanity commenced to gain on Francis Rivet. He saw no more; heard no more. The veins of his temples were swollen beyond A delirious fever raged in his brain. Incapable of reflection, guided only by the instinct of an irritated

measure.

animal, he leaped at the new enemy who dared to brave his fnry. But Philip Francœur was as agile as a squirrel. He threw away his brand, precipitated himself on Brisetout, leaped on his back, seized him vigorously by the neck, and aided by some other bandits who wished to join him, threw the giant on the ground. There a terrible struggle took place, the struggle of a bear attacked by a pack of hounds; but succumbing in the end to the number of his assailants, Brise-tout made a desperate effort to free himself; and while all his muscles were distended, all his physical faculties in full play, a terrible bellowing burst fron his larynx, with streams of blood. The bone had disengaged itself in this supreme convulsion, and Francis Rivet signalized in his own way the termination of his suffering. Nevertheless, he got rid of one evil only to exchange it for one a hundred times worse; for his adversaries, exasperated by the blows he had given them, were by no means disposed to abandon him; but the arrival of John de Ganay was the signal of his deliverance.

The row had attracted the attention of the viscount, who was promenading alone on the beach. He hastened to pacify the combatants; and returned after having been assured by Maleficieux, that order would be maintained.

The night had already veiled the Isle of Sable. However, the convicts felt no inclination to sleep. The scene just referred to had excited them too much to compose themselves so soon. The fire was revived; each took his place around it with the exception of Brise-tout, who persisted in grumbling in a corner; and yielding to the solicit

ations of his comrades, who begged him to tell a story, the sailor, Philip Francœux, expressed himself in these

terms:

E

"WELL, by boys, open your hatches, for I am going to unfold a long cable. Not to bewilder you in a maze of phrases, there are no doubt some among you who have beat about the Rue du Possédé, at St. Malo; a narrow, tortuous street, as sombre as the steerage of the Castor. By Neptune, it is well named the Rue du Possédé (Street of the Possessed). When one sees its delapidated wormeaten houses, he feels ready to commit his soul to God. What stench! What a foretaste of hell! And it is haunted even at the present day only by emissaries of the devil. It is here, then, we are about to cast anchor for a

moment.

"Forty years have now passed since the Rue du Possédé was the terror of the brave, devoted people of St. Malo, who regularly paid their tithes, and never failed, on returning from a sea-voyage, to offer a large yellow wax candle