Durand had given the
government a receipt:

"Friend landlord: Politeness-who, according to ancient mythology,
is the grandmother of good manners--compels me to inform you that I
am under the cruel necessity of not conforming to the prevalent
custom of paying rent--prevalent especially when the rent is due. Up
to this morning I had cherished the hope of being able to celebrate
this fair day by the payments of my three quarters. Vain chimera,
bitter illusion! While I was slumbering on the pillow of
confidence, ill-luck--what the Greeks call _ananke_--was scattering
my hopes. The returns on which I counted--times are so bad!-have
failed, and of the considerable sums which I was to receive I have
only realised three francs, which were lent me, and I will not
insult you by the offer of them. Better days will come for our dear
country and for me. Doubt it not, sir! When they come, I shall fly
to inform you of their arrival, and to withdraw from your lodgings
the precious objects which I leave there, putting them under your
protection and that of the law, which hinders you from selling them
before the expiration of a year, in case you should be disposed to
try to do so with the object of obtaining the sum for which you
stand credited in the ledger of my honesty. I commend to your
special care my piano, and also the large frame containing sixty
locks of hair whose different colours run through the whole gamut
of capillary shades; the scissors of love have stolen them from the
forehead of the Graces."

"Therefore, dear sir, and landlord, you may dispose of the roof
under which I have dwelt. I grant you full authority, and have
hereto set my hand and seal."

"ALEXANDER SCHAUNARD"

On finishing this letter, (which the artist had written at the desk of a
friend who was a clerk in the War Office,) Monsieur Bernard indignantly
crushed it in his hand, and as his glance fell on old Durand, who was
waiting for the promised gratification, he roughly demanded what he was
doing.

"Waiting, sir."

"For what?"

"For the present, on account of the good news," stammered the porter.

"Get out, you scoundrel! Do you presume to speak to me with your cap
on?"

"But, sir--"

"Don't you answer me! Get out! No, stay there! We shall go up to the
room of that scamp of an artist who has run off without payi