t
making a sound; you might think they hadn't a dog. The beast never
leaves the lady's room. There's a sick lady in there, and very sick,
too; she's never been out of her room since she came. Old Monsieur
Bernard works hard, and the son, too; the lad is a day-scholar at the
school of Louis-le-Grand, where he is nearly through his philosophy
course, and only sixteen, too; that's something to boast of! but the
little scamp has to work like one possessed. Presently you'll hear them
bring out the plants they keep in the lady's room and carry in fresh
ones. They themselves, the grandfather and the boy, only eat bread,
though they buy flowers and all sorts of dainties for the lady. She must
be very ill, not to leave her room once since entering it; and if one's
to believe Monsieur Berton, the doctor, she'll never come out except
feet foremost."

"What does this Monsieur Bernard do?"

"It seems he's a learned man; he writes and goes about to libraries.
Monsieur lends him money on his compositions."

"Monsieur? who is he?"

"The proprietor of the house, Monsieur Barbet, the old bookseller. He is
a Norman who used to sell green stuff in the streets, and afterwards set
up a bookstall, in 1818, on the quay. Then he got a little shop, and now
he is very rich. He is a kind of a Jew, with a score of trades; he
was even a partner with the Italian who built this barrack to lodge
silk-worms."

"So this house is a refuge for unfortunate authors?" said Godefroid.

"Is monsieur unluckily one himself?" asked the widow Vauthier.

"I am only just starting," replied Godefroid.

"Oh! my dear monsieur, take my advice and don't go on; journalist?
well,--I won't say anything against that."

Godefroid could not help laughing as he bade good-night to the portress,
who thus, all unconsciously, represented the bourgeoisie. As he went
to bed in the horrible room, floored with bricks that were not even
colored, and hung with a paper at seven sous a roll, Godefroid not only
regretted his little rooms in the rue Chanoinesse, but also the society
of Madame de la Chanterie. He felt a void in his soul. He had already
acquired habits of mind; and could not remember to have so keenly
regretted anything in all his former life as this break in his new
existence. These thoughts, as they pressed upon him, had a great effect
upon his soul; he felt that no life could compare in value with the one
he sought to embrace, and his resolution to emulate the goo