thing Cartouche knew of it was when the bride-*groom, with a huge white favor in his buttonhole, marched into Cartouche's garret.
"She's done it, Cartouche," groaned Duvernet. "They all do."
Cartouche knew perfectly well what poor Duvernet meant.
"She has, has she?" he roared, "and did you tell her about the three other women you have married, and got yourself in such a precious mess with?"
"Yes," groaned Duvernet, seating himself on the side of the bed. "She knows all about it—but I couldn't explain which ones had sued me for divorce, and which I had sued. But Julie didn't mind. You see, she is thirty-six years old, and never has been married, and she made up her mind it wasn't worth while to wait longer; and when women get that way, it's no use opposing them."
"The last time," shouted Cartouche, quite beside himself at the manager's folly, for which he himself felt twinges of conscience, "the last time you said it was because she was a widow! Duvernet, as sure as you are alive, you will bring yourself behind the bars of Ste. Pélagie."
"If I do," cried poor Duvernet, stung by Car-
