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"Do you ask, Citizen Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Then," said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will

be answered to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!"

CHAPTER VIII. A Hand at Cards

Happily unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross

threaded her way along the narrow streets and crossed the river

by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf, reckoning in her mind the number

of indispensable purchases she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with

the basket, walked at her side. They both looked to the right and

to the left into most of the shops they passed, had a wary eye

for all gregarious assemblages of people, and turned out of their

road to avoid any very excited group of talkers. It was a raw

evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing

lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges

were stationed in which the smiths worked, making guns for the

Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that

Army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his

beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.