duced a paper which she gave me with averted eyes, saying, "Read, read."
"These are printed papers you have given me; you must have made some mistake."
"Would that I did, sir; would to heaven that I did. I beseech you to cast your eyes over the number 32,740; my grief forbids me to utter more! Ah! how cruel is my fate.—(Tears fell from her eyes, the word expired upon her lips, she was convulsed by sobs, and could with apparent difficulty prevent them suffocating her.) I am strangled! I am choking! I feel something swelling in my throat.—Ah! ah! ah! ah!"
I handed a seat to the lady, and whilst she abandoned herself to her sorrow, I turned over two or three leaves, until I reached No. 32,740, under the head of lost property; the page was moist with tears; I read:
"A small spaniel, with long silvery silky hair, dropping ears; he is perfectly trimmed; a mark of fire above each eye: physiognomy excessively animated, the tail trumpet-fashion, forming the bird of paradise. His natural disposition is very endearing; will eat nothing but the white of a chicken, and answers to the name of Garçon, pronounced with mildness. His mistress is in despair; fifty francs reward will be given to whosoever will bring him to the Rue de Turenne, No. 23."
"Well, madame! what am I to do for Garçon? Dogs are not under my control. I see that he was a most amiable creature."
"Ah! sir, amiable! that is the exact word," sighed the lady, in accents that penetrated the very heart; "and his intelligence could not be surpassed; he never left me.—Dearest Garçon! Would you believe it, that during the holy exercises, he had a more devout look than myself? In truth, he was generally admired, his appearance alone was a lesson to mankind.—Alas! alas! on Sunday last we were going together to the sacrament, I was carrying him under my arm; you know
