‘I am done, Gérard. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child.
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