, so that women sat chatting before their doors as if
it were a fete-day in some country town. At first I watched the charming
expression of the girl's face and her graceful attitudes, her pose fit
for a painter. It was a pretty sight. I looked about me, seeking to
understand this blithe simplicity in the midst of Paris, and saw that
the street was a blind alley and but little frequented. I remembered
that Jean Jacques had once lived here, and looked up the Hotel
Saint-Quentin. Its dilapidated condition awakened hopes of a cheap
lodging, and I determined to enter.

"I found myself in a room with a low ceiling; the candles, in
classic-looking copper candle-sticks, were set in a row under each key.
The predominating cleanliness of the room made a striking contrast to
the usual state of such places. This one was as neat as a bit of genre;
there was a charming trimness about the blue coverlet, the cooking pots
and furniture. The mistress of the house rose and came to me. She seemed
to be about forty years of age; sorrows had left their traces on her
features, and weeping had dimmed her eyes. I deferentially mentioned the
amount I could pay; it seemed to cause her no surprise; she sought out
a key from the row, went up to the attics with me, and showed me a room
that looked out on the neighboring roofs and courts; long poles with
linen drying on them hung out of the window.

"Nothing could be uglier than this garret, awaiting its scholar, with
its dingy yellow walls and odor of poverty. The roofing fell in a steep
slope, and the sky was visible through chinks in the tiles. There was
room for a bed, a table, and a few chairs, and beneath the highest point
of the roof my piano could stand. Not being rich enough to furnish this
cage (that might have been one of the _Piombi_ of Venice), the poor
woman had never been able to let it; and as I had saved from the recent
sale the furniture that was in a fashion peculiarly mine, I very soon
came to terms with my landlady, and moved in on the following day.

"For three years I lived in this airy sepulchre, and worked unflaggingly
day and night; and so great was the pleasure that study seemed to me the
fairest theme and the happiest solution of life. The tranquillity and
peace that a scholar needs is something as sweet and exhilarating as
love. Unspeakable joys are showered on us by the exertion of our
mental faculties; the quest of ideas, and the tranquil contemplation
of knowledge;