Rue de l'Orillon, which is outside the barrier, near the Belleville theatre, bears not the slightest resemblance to Rue de Rivoli, or to Rue de la Paix. There is much mud there at almost all seasons, and there are very few shops of the Magasin du ProphÈte variety; indeed, I think that I can safely say that there are none.

It was in a wretched furnished lodging on this street outside the walls that the ci-devant Beau Arthur, who had once dwelt in the fashionable precincts of the Champs-ÉlysÉes and the ChaussÉe d'Antin, had been compelled to take up his abode. He did not often pay his rent; however, on the day when he received his quarterly stipend, he sometimes persuaded himself to give two or three five-franc pieces to his landlady, and she waited patiently for her arrears, because she was proud to furnish lodgings to a man who had once had thirty-five thousand francs a year, and who still retained a trace of his former social position in his manners and his language.

The room occupied by Cherami was not furnished like the apartments of the HÔtel du Louvre. A blue wallpaper, at thirteen sous a roll, took the place of hangings; but this paper, already old, was torn in several places, and the breaches were concealed by scraps of paper of a different design, and, in many instances, of a different color, which gave to the room a sort of Harlequin aspect which was not altogether disagreeable—especially to those persons who like that costume. Now, Harlequins are very popular in Rue de l'Orillon.

A miserable cot-bed, surmounted by a rod which had never been gilded, and over which was thrown a curtain of yellow cloth much too narrow to surround the bed, stood opposite the window. At the foot of the bed was a screen four feet high, which was supposed to be a protection against the wind that came in under the ill-fitted door. A Louis XVI commode, an old Louis XV armchair, and a desk which claimed to be Louis XIII, with a few common chairs, were all the furniture that the apartment contained. On the mantel were two kitchen candlesticks, a small box of matches, and several cigar-butts, but not a single pipe: Arthur would have deemed himself a dishonored man if he had put a pipe to his lips.

It was noon, and Cherami lay on his bed, having just waked up. He stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and, glancing at the window, said to himself:

"On my word, I believe I've had quite a nap! Yes, if I can judge by the sun, which is shining in at my window, the morning must be well advanced. It is often unpleasant not to have a watch; but, at all events, in a furnished lodging-house there should be a clock on each mantel. That villainous Madame Louchard, my landlady, promises me every month that indispensable complement of my furniture, and I am like Sister Anne, I see nothing coming. Par la sambleu! as they say in Marivaux's plays, the rest has done me good, for yesterday was a tiresome day! But it seems to me that I had at least a dozen duels on hand for this morning; the deuce! and I don't know what time it is."

Thereupon Cherami began to knock loudly on the thin partition beside his bed, shouting at the top of his voice:

"Madame Louchard! I say there! Goddess of Cythera! Landlady of the Loves! Venus of La Courtille! hasten hither, I beseech thee.—Come, lady fair; I await thee! I await thee!—Damnation! start your boots, will you!"

After some five minutes, heavy footsteps were heard in the corridor, and a tall woman, thin as a lath, whose flat hips indicated a most profound contempt for every sort of hoop-skirt, entered the room occupied by Cherami. This woman had a huge nose, huge mouth, huge teeth, huge ears, and feet and hands to correspond. A child who had heard the tale of Little Red Riding Hood would inevitably have been afraid of her, mistaking her for the wolf disguised as the grandmother.

To complete the portrait, we may add that Madame Louchard had a yellow complexion, bleared eyes, and a nose always smeared with snuff; that her costume consisted of a long dressing-gown, shaped like an umbrella case (a reminder of the style in vogue under the Directory); and, finally, that her head-dress was a white cap, around which was tied a colored cotton handkerchief.

"Well! what's the matter? What are you shouting and hammering for? Couldn't you get up, Monsieur Lazy-bones? I should think it had been light long enough."

Such was this lady's way of bidding her tenant good-morning.

"You are right as to that point, Queen of Cythera," replied Cherami, half rising.

"God forgive me! I believe he intends to get up before me! Was that why you called me—to let me see that sight? That strikes me as a strange kind of joke!"

"Nay, nay, virtuous Louchard; I will not rise in your presence. I know the rigidity of your morals, and I respect them! I know that with you Richelieu and Buckingham would have wasted their time."

"I don't know those gentlemen, but it would be just the same with them as with others! I have told you a hundred times that, since my husband's death, the late Louchard, men are nothing to me!"

"It would seem that the late Louchard was a phoenix, a jewel, the very pearl of husbands?"

"On the contrary, he had a lot of hidden drawbacks, and he was always drunk. That's what made me take a dislike to your sex, in the matter of love."

"Very good! I agree with you, on my honor. I think you did well to adopt that course."

"Why?"

"Because it makes you resemble Dido. But let us change the subject; tell me quickly what time it is."

"Dame! it's a good half-hour—yes, at least half an hour—since I heard the clock strike twelve."

"Then say at once that it's half-past twelve. Bigre! I have been lazy, and no mistake; but when I came in last night, it was two o'clock in the morning."

"No earlier; and you woke me up, too; you always make such a noise on the stairs!"

"At all events, I didn't wake your concierge, as you haven't one."

"What's the good of a concierge?—Everybody knows the secret of the passageway, and they can come in when they choose."

"And by feeling their way, which is often very imprudent."

"But I believe you rode home last night. Do the omnibuses run as late as that nowadays?"

"Omnibuses! Understand, Widow Louchard, that when I come home after midnight, I always come in a coupÉ or a cab."

"Peste! so the funds have gone up, have they? You'd better give me something on account."

"Don't bother me! I gave you ten francs."

"That was two months ago."

"That's not the question. Has anybody called to see me this morning?"

"No, not a cat."

"Not a cat! Oh! the cowards!"

"Why do you say that cats are cowards? Mine would fight a bulldog."

"I'm not talking about your cat, Widow Louchard; but about a lot of braggarts, all of whom challenged me yesterday, and who don't dare to call on me to-day."

"Do you mean that you wanted to fight again, pray? Good God! is it a disease with you? It isn't so very long since you were cured of that bullet in your side."

"Bah! a trifle, a scratch. I am not quarrelsome; but when a man seems to look askance at me, that irritates me. After all, I am not particular about seeing those walking rushlights of the Blanquette wedding party. But there was another man; if he doesn't come, I shall be surprised. However, it's not too late yet; he was only married yesterday, and a man doesn't get up very early on the day after his wedding."

"What! you expect to fight with someone who was married yesterday?"

"Why not? We marry, we fight, we kill—or are killed! Such is life, lovely Artemisia!"

"What makes you call me Artemisia? that isn't my name."

"Because she was a widow who profoundly regretted her husband."

"But I have never regretted mine a single minute."

"That makes no difference.—So you say it's half-past twelve? Sapristi! Madame Louchard, when is that clock coming that you've been promising me so long?"

"I'm waiting for a good chance. I want something to match the rest of the furniture."

"In that case, my dear friend, as I have here a so-called Louis XIII desk, a Louis XV armchair, and a Louis XVI commode, it seems to me that you cannot do otherwise than procure a Louis XIV clock, to fill up the inter-regnum and reestablish the continuity of the dynasty."

"Yes, yes; I've seen lately a little rococo Pompadour one, second-hand."

"Take care! you don't go back far enough; I didn't say Pompadour, which would land you in the middle of Louis XV's reign! I said Louis XIV."

"Fourteenth or fifteenth! so long as it ain't too dear.—But what's all this? when I said you were in funds, I wasn't mistaken, was I? You've bought a new hat! I must say, you did well; for yours wouldn't have lasted out a storm."

"A new hat! What are you talking about, my fair hostess? I have thought of it more than once, but I have not yet carried out my project."

"Why, what's this, then?"

Madame Louchard took a hat from the commode and handed it to Cherami, who stared at it with wide-open eyes; for the hat was quite new and of a stylish shape.

"What the devil! is that my hat? That's a surprising thing; it has changed, much to its advantage; it has grown at least two years younger; and it fits me, pardieu! Yes, it fits me nicely; it's just the shape of my head."

"Of course you bought it yesterday?"

"Oh! no, I didn't buy it, I tell you again. Ah! I see: when I left that wedding ball, I was a little excited—a little angry; I seized the first hat that came under my hand, thinking it was mine."

"Well, there's no denying that you've got a lucky hand; you haven't lost by the change."

"Oh! dear me, such mistakes occur so often at balls and evening parties, that, frankly, I shall not demand mine back."

"You will make no mistake; but the man who found your hat in place of his—he may want his back."

"Very well! let him come; I am ready for him; I'll return his old tile, and give him others to boot."

"Ah! but that isn't all."

"What else is there, Widow Louchard? Can it be that I came home with two hats? I admit that that would astonish me."

"No, it isn't a hat this time; but this cane—this isn't your clothes-beater, which wasn't worth six sous."

Madame Louchard picked up a cane which lay in a corner of the room; it was a genuine rattan, with an agate head surrounded by gold rings, and cut in very peculiar fashion. She showed it to Cherami, who exclaimed in admiration:

"Oho! why, that's a beauty! A charming cane, excellent style—not too heavy; I like this sort of cameo for a head very much."

"So you got your cane the same way you did your hat, eh?"

"Pardieu! that goes without saying. It stood beside the hat. You see, I had placed my switch beside my beaver—so the joke was complete."

"Well, you're mighty lucky in your mistakes; that's sure. This cane must have cost a lot of money."

"Oh! I have seen much finer ones than this, in the old days. What the devil are you looking for on the floor and on the furniture, Madame Louchard?"

"Dame! I'm looking to see if you haven't brought something else home, by mistake."

Cherami instantly sat up in bed, crying:

"Thunder of Jupiter! Widow Louchard, what do you take me for, I'd like to know? Do you think I'm a thief, a pickpocket? I had a hat and a cane, and on leaving a ball I took a hat and a cane. They're not the ones that belong to me; I made a mistake, I was in error, and that may happen to anybody—errare humanum est, do you understand? No, you don't understand; never mind. But to carry away anything to which I have no right—fie! for shame!—To prove that I wouldn't do such a thing—I found a glove, and I returned it. Let me tell you, madame, that a man may be without money, have debts, borrow and not pay, and even play cards on his word—for if I had lost last night, I shouldn't have been able to pay on the spot; but all those things don't prevent one's being an honest man."

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Cherami, I don't say they do; you go off all of a sudden, like a spitfire!"

"Last night, I confess, I had dined very well. I wasn't drunk; I never get drunk; I was simply a little confused, which fully explains all these mistakes; and now, I feel as if I could take something."

"Would you like to have me make you a nice onion soup, while you're getting up? There's nothing that'll set you up better, the day after a spree."

"Onion soup! I do not disdain that dish; but I am tempted to look higher, and I believe that a good chicken—— But what's all that noise? I should say that a carriage was stopping in front of the hÔtel! Go and look, my dear hostess."

Madame Louchard went to the window.

"Yes, it is," she said; "a handsome private cabriolet, with a fine dapple-gray horse, and a groom in livery! And there's a young dandy getting out; he's looking at the house; he's coming in; it must be for me."

"For you? Oh! no, it's for me, by all the devils! It must be that young husband, and here am I still in bed! I must dress at the double-quick."

Cherami jumped out of his bed, in his nightshirt; whereupon Madame Louchard instantly took flight, crying:

"I don't like this sort of thing, Monsieur Cherami; I told you not to get up before me. And a man who don't wear drawers, too!"

"Aha! my dear hostess, it would seem that you risked a glance! Oh! these women! they are all descended from Lot's wife! It's a pity that they're not changed into salt nowadays at every indiscretion; that would make a handsome reduction in the price of that product!"