"'Tite Poulette," the daughter was called; she never went out alone.
And who was this Madame John?
"Why, you know!--she was"-- said the wig-maker at the corner to Kristian Koppig--"I'll tell you.

You know ?--she was"-- and the rest atomized off in a rasping whisper.

She was the best yellow-fever nurse in a thousand yards round; but that is not what the wig-maker said.
A block nearer the river stands a house altogether different from the remnant of old barracks.

It is of frame, with a deep front gallery over which the roof extends.

It has become a den of Italians, who sell fuel by daylight, and by night are up to no telling what extent of deviltry.
This was once the home of a gay gentleman, whose first name happened to be John.