ld be seen in his strange
interior, the pure and simple life of Pillerault was revealed by
the arrangements of his modest home, consisting of an antechamber, a
sitting-room, and a bed-room. Judged by dimensions, it was the cell of a
Trappist. The antechamber, with a red-tiled floor, had only one window,
screened by a cambric curtain with a red border; mahogany chairs,
covered with reddish sheep's leather put on with gilt nails, walls hung
with an olive-green paper, and otherwise decorated with the American
Declaration of Independence, a portrait of Bonaparte as First Consul,
and a representation of the battle of Austerlitz. The salon, decorated
undoubtedly by an upholsterer, had a set of furniture with arched
tops covered in yellow, a carpet, chimney ornaments of bronze without
gilding, a painted chimney-board, a console bearing a vase of flowers
under a glass case, a round table covered with a cloth, on which stood
a liqueur-stand. The newness of this room proclaimed a sacrifice made by
the old man to the conventions of the world; for he seldom received
any one at home. In his bedroom, as plain as that of a monk or an old
soldier (the two men best able to estimate life), a crucifix with a
basin of holy-water first caught the eye. This profession of faith in a
stoical old republican was strangely moving to the heart of a spectator.

An old woman came to do his household work; but his respect for
women was so great that he would not let her black his boots, and he
subscribed to a boot-black for that service. His dress was simple, and
invariably the same. He wore a coat and trousers of dark-blue cloth, a
waistcoat of some printed cotton fabric, a white cravat, high shoes, and
on gala days he put on a coat with brass buttons. His habits of rising,
breakfasting, going out, dining, his evening resorts, and his returning
hours were all stamped with the strictest punctuality; for regular
habits are the secret of long life and sound health. Politics never came
to the surface in his intercourse with Cesar, the Ragons, or the Abbe
Loraux; for the good people of that circle knew each other too well to
care to enter the region of proselytism. Like his nephew and like the
Ragons, he put implicit confidence in Roguin. To his mind the notary
was a being worthy of veneration,--the living image of probity. In the
affair of the lands about the Madeleine, Pillerault had undertaken a
private examination, which was the real cause of the bold