abited by
the working classes. The house in question was of the number. A dyer
occupied the ground floor; the deleterious vapors arising from his vats
added to the stench of the whole building. On the upper stories, several
artisans lodged with their families, or carried on their different
trades. Up four flights of stairs was the lodging of Frances Baudoin,
wife of Dagobert. It consisted of one room, with a closet adjoining, and
was now lighted by a single candle. Agricola occupied a garret in the
roof.

Old grayish paper, broken here and there by the cracks covered the crazy
wall, against which rested the bed; scanty curtains, running upon an
iron rod, concealed the windows; the brick floor, not polished, but
often washed, had preserved its natural color. At one end of this room
was a round iron stove, with a large pot for culinary purposes. On the
wooden table, painted yellow, marbled with brown, stood a miniature
house made of iron--a masterpiece of patience and skill, the work of
Agricola Baudoin, Dagobert's son.

A plaster crucifix hung up against the wall, surrounded by several
branches of consecrated box-tree, and various images of saints, very
coarsely colored, bore witness to the habits of the soldier's wife.
Between the windows stood one of those old walnut-wood presses,
curiously fashioned, and almost black with time; an old arm-chair,
covered with green cotton velvet (Agricola's first present to his
mother), a few rush bottomed chairs, and a worktable on which lay
several bags of coarse, brown cloth, completed the furniture of this
room, badly secured by a worm-eaten door. The adjoining closet contained
a few kitchen and household utensils.

Mean and poor as this interior may perhaps appear, it would not seem
so to the greater number of artisans; for the bed was supplied with
two mattresses, clean sheets, and a warm counterpane; the old-fashioned
press contained linen; and, moreover, Dagobert's wife occupied all to
herself a room as large as those in which numerous families, belonging
to honest and laborious workmen, often live and sleep huddled
together--only too happy if the boys and girls can have separate beds,
or if the sheets and blankets are not pledged at the pawnbroker's.

Frances Baudoin, seated beside the small stove, which, in the cold and
damp weather, yielded but little warmth, was busied in preparing her son
Agricola's evening meal.

Dagobert's wife was about fifty years of age; she wor