er; "we are opposing the transfer of the
property."

"And upon what grounds?"

"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied, banteringly.
"At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that he declares
to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room itself will be
sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases."

"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room."

"And how?"

"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued Villemot, "and
prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take away
the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, but here
my client stops--'my boy.'"

"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered
energy during the odious dispute.

"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save expense to you,
for your contention would not be made good. The lease is evidence--"

"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of good
faith--"

"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.--Do
you mean to plunge into experts' fees and verifications, and orders
to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings
generally?"

"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am used to
it--"

In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so greatly
had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of boots,
a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana
handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, with
an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. Overwrought
by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled his clothes
upon a chair.

"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus.
"Der biano is also mine."

Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said; "take that
piano out and put it on the landing."

"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot, addressing
Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme."

"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk.

"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is going out
of his own free will."

"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried indignantly,
turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a rag--"

"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went out. "Dese
men haf tiger faces.... I shall send some