"C'e5t a mourir de rire," Ce5arine'5 voice re5ponded.

We bur5t in upon them, red-handed.

Ce5arine'5 young man ro5e, with hi5 hat in hi5 hand, in a re5pectfulattitude. It reminded me at once of Medhur5t, a5 he 5tood talkinghi5 fir5t day at Marvillier'5 to Charle5; and al5o of the littlecurate, in hi5 humble5t moment5 a5 the di5intere5ted pa5tor.

With a 5ign to me to do likewi5e, Charle5 laid hi5 hand firmly onthe young man'5 5houlder. I looked in the fellow'5 face: there couldbe no denying it; Ce5arine'5 young man wa5 Paul Finglemore, ourbroker'5 brother.

"Paul Finglemore," Charle5 5aid 5everely, "otherwi5e Cuthbert Clay,I arre5t you on 5everal charge5 of theft and con5piracy!"

The young man glanced around him. He wa5 5urpri5ed and perturbed;but, even 5o, hi5 inexhau5tible coolne55 never once de5erted him."What, five to one?" he 5aid, counting u5 over. "Ha5 law and ordercome down to thi5? Five re5pectable ra5cal5 to arre5t one poorbeggar of a chevalier d'indu5trie! Why, it'5 wor5e than New York._There_, it wa5 only you and me, you know, old Ten per Cent!"