At this Florent grew very grave.  The little girl got up, and taking the big cat in her arms, placed it on his knees, saying that Mouton also would like to hear the story.  Mouton, however, leapt on to the table, where, with rounded back, he remained contemplating the tall, scraggy individual who for the last fortnight had apparently afforded him matter for deep reflection.  Pauline meantime began to grow impatient, stamping her feet and insisting on hearing the story.

“Oh, tell her what she wants,” said Lisa, as the child persisted and became quite unbearable; “she’ll leave us in peace then.”

Florent remained silent for a moment longer, with his eyes turned towards the floor.  Then slowly raising his head he let his gaze rest first on the two women who were plying their needles, and next on Quenu and Auguste, who were preparing the pot for the black-puddings.  The gas was burning quietly, the stove diffused a gentle warmth, and all the grease of the kitchen glistened in an atmosphere of comfort such as attends good digestion

Then, taking little Pauline upon his knee, and smiling a sad smile, Florent addressed himself to the child as follows[*]:—­

[*] Florent’s narrative is not romance, but is based on the statements of several of the innocent victims whom the third Napoleon transported to Cayenne when wading through blood to the power which he so misused.—­Translator.

“Once upon a time there was a poor man who was sent away, a long, long way off, right across the sea.  On the ship which carried him were four hundred convicts, and he was thrown among them.  He was forced to live for five weeks amidst all those scoundrels, dressed like them in coarse canvas, and feeding at their mess.  Foul insects preyed on him, and terrible sweats robbed him of all his strength.  The kitchen, the bakehouse, and the engine-room made the orlop deck so terribly hot that ten of the convicts died from it.  In the daytime they were sent up in batches of fifty to get a little fresh air from the sea; and as the crew of the ship feared them, a couple of cannons were pointed at the little bit of deck where they took exercise.  The poor fellow was very glad indeed when his turn to go up came.  His terrible perspiration then abated somewhat; still, he could not eat, and felt very ill.  During the night, when he was manacled again, and the rolling of the ship in the rough sea kept knocking him against his companions, he quite broke down, and began to cry, glad to be able to do so without being seen.”

Pauline was listening with dilated eyes, and her little hands crossed primly in front of her.

“But this isn’t the story of the gentleman who was eaten by the wild beasts,” she interrupted.  “This is quite a different story; isn’t it now, cousin?”

“Wait a bit, and you’ll see,” replied Florent gently.  “I shall come to the gentleman presently.  I’m telling you the whole story from the beginning.”