uctions.
The fifth story, finally, was cut up in numerous small rooms and
closets, which were occupied by poor families or clerks, who, almost
without exception, disappeared early in the morning, and returned only
as late as possible at night.

An addition to the house in the rear had its own staircase, and was
probably in the hands of still humbler tenants; but then it is so
difficult to rent out small lodgings!

However this may have been, the house had a bad reputation; and the
lodgers had to bear the consequences. Not one of them would have been
trusted with a dollar's worth of goods in any of the neighboring shops.
No one, however, stood, rightly or wrongly, in as bad repute as the
doorkeeper, or concierge, who lived in a little hole near the great
double entrance-door, and watched over the safety of the whole house.
Master Chevassat and his wife were severely "cut" by their colleagues
of adjoining houses; and the most atrocious stories were told of both
husband and wife.

Master Chevassat was reputed to be well off; but the story went that
he lent out money, and did not hesitate to charge a hundred per cent
a month. He acted, besides, it was said, as agent for two of his
tenants,--the broker, and the dealer in second-hand goods, and undertook
the executions, when poor debtors were unable to pay. Mrs. Chevassat,
however, had even graver charges to bear. People said she would do
anything for money, and had aided and encouraged many a poor girl in the
house in her evil career.

It was also asserted that the estimable couple had formerly lived in the
fashionable Faubourg St. Honore, but had been compelled to leave there
on account of several ugly occurrences. They were, finally, reported to
have a son called Justin, a handsome fellow, thirty-five years old, who
lived in the best society, and whom they nearly worshipped; while he was
ashamed of them, and despised them, although he came often at night to
ask them for money. No one, it must, however, be confessed, had ever
seen this son; and no one knew him.

The two Chevassats shrugged their shoulders, and said it would be absurd
if they should trouble themselves about public opinion, as long as their
consciences were clear, and they owed nobody anything.

Towards the end of last December, however, on a Saturday afternoon,
towards five o'clock, husband and wife were just sitting down to dinner,
when the dealer in old clothes, Papa Ravinet, rushed like a tempest i