ase looked as
if it had been sacked; there were books scattered over everything,
some piled up open, one on another, others on the floor face downwards;
registers of proceedings laid on the floor in rows, lengthwise, in front
of the shelves; and that floor had not been polished for two years.

The tables and shelves were covered with ex votos, the offerings of
the grateful poor. On a pair of blue glass jars which ornamented the
chimney-shelf there were two glass balls, of which the core was made up
of many-colored fragments, giving them the appearance of some singular
natural product. Against the wall hung frames of artificial flowers, and
decorations in which Popinot's initials were surrounded by hearts and
everlasting flowers. Here were boxes of elaborate and useless cabinet
work; there letter-weights carved in the style of work done by
convicts in penal servitude. These masterpieces of patience, enigmas of
gratitude, and withered bouquets gave the lawyer's room the appearance
of a toyshop. The good man used these works of art as hiding-places
which he filled with bills, worn-out pens, and scraps of paper. All
these pathetic witnesses to his divine charity were thick with dust,
dingy, and faded.

Some birds, beautifully stuffed, but eaten by moth, perched in this
wilderness of trumpery, presided over by an Angora cat, Madame Popinot's
pet, restored to her no doubt with all the graces of life by some
impecunious naturalist, who thus repaid a gift of charity with a
perennial treasure. Some local artist whose heart had misguided his
brush had painted portraits of M. and Madame Popinot. Even in the
bedroom there were embroidered pin-cushions, landscapes in cross-stitch,
and crosses in folded paper, so elaborately cockled as to show the
senseless labor they had cost.

The window-curtains were black with smoke, and the hangings absolutely
colorless. Between the fireplace and the large square table at which the
magistrate worked, the cook had set two cups of coffee on a small table,
and two armchairs, in mahogany and horsehair, awaited the uncle and
nephew. As daylight, darkened by the windows, could not penetrate to
this corner, the cook had left two dips burning, whose unsnuffed wicks
showed a sort of mushroom growth, giving the red light which promises
length of life to the candle from slowness of combustion--a discovery
due to some miser.

"My dear uncle, you ought to wrap yourself more warmly when you go down
to th