out half a dozen times in a twelvemonth.

The next thing was to catch the refractory national guard, which was not
easy, seeing that, in order to avoid an enforced sojourn at the Hotel
des Haricots,[5] Balzac not only disappeared from his usual haunts, but
left his regular domicile, and took an apartment elsewhere under an
assumed name. On one occasion, at a small lodgings which he had taken
near his publisher, Hippolyte Souverain, under the name of Madame
Dupont, Leon Gozlan, having found him out, sent him a letter addressed
to "Madame Dupont, _nee_ Balzac."

[Footnote 5: The name of the military prison which was
originally built on the site of the former College Montaigu,
where the scholars were almost exclusively fed on haricot
beans. Throughout its removals the prison preserved its
nickname.--EDITOR.]

The sergeant-major of Balzac's company had undoubtedly a grudge against
him. He happened to be a perfumer, and ever since the publication and
success of "Cesar Birotteau" the Paris perfumers bore Balzac no
goodwill. That particular one had sworn by all his essences and bottles
that he would lay hands on the recalcitrant private of his company in
the streets, for only under such conditions could he arrest him. To
watch at Balzac's ordinary domicile was of no use, and, when he had
discovered his temporary residence, he had to lure him out of it,
because the other was on his guard.

One morning, while the novelist was hard at work, his old housekeeper,
whom he always took with him, came to tell him that there was a large
van downstairs with a case addressed to him. "How did they find me out
here?" exclaimed Balzac, and despatched the dame to gather further
particulars. In a few moments she returned. The case contained an
Etruscan vase sent from Italy, but, seeing that it had been knocking
about for the last three days in every quarter of Paris in the carman's
efforts to find out the consignee, the former was anxious that M. Balzac
should verify the intact condition of the package before it was
unloaded. Balzac fell straight into the trap. Giving himself no time
even to exchange his dressing-gown, or rather his monk's frock he was in
the habit of wearing, for a coat, or his slippers for a pair of boots,
he rushed downstairs, watching with a benign smile the carrier handling
most delicately the treasure that had come to him.

"Caught at last," said a stentorian voice behind