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 the whole evening upon this violent attempt on Lafitte's banking-house in particular and the dangers of robbery in general. He even forgot the game of cribbage. When he rose to go, at ten o'clock, both Madame Bourcet and Fifi protested that they expected to be murdered in their beds by a gang of robbers before daylight. Louis promised to come to the déjeuner at eleven the next morning, to give them the latest particulars of this nefarious attempt to rob the bank.

Fifi alone in her own room went into spasms of delight. Her freedom was close at hand—and soon, soon, she could return to that happy life of hard work and deep affection she had once known. When she slipped into bed, the hard lump was not in her mattress.

"Think," she said to herself, lying awake in the dark, "of the good that hateful money will do now—of the poor children warmed and fed and clothed. Giving it away like this is not half so difficult as spending it on hats and gowns and monkeys, and I think I may reckon on getting back to the dear street of the Black Cat soon—very soon."

And so, she fell into a deep, sweet sleep, to dream of Cartouche, and Toto and all the people