The traffic carried on by this family takes place at night, by torch-light, and by Dutch auction. There you may see put up a coat from the studio of Humann, a genuine waistcoat from the hand of Blanc, and trousers whose incomparable cut declares them to have proceeded from the genius and shears of Morbach; in a word, the costume complete of a “fashionable” of the first water,—for how much? Three francs!—just half-a-crown!—the pleasantry of the vendor included, without extra charge. This pleasantry is something like that of our “Cheap Jacks,” whose invention is so facile, and whose power of lying exceeds that of Osten-Sacken and the Czar together. “Look, gentlemen,” exclaims one of the illustrious house in question; “this coat originally belonged to a Russian prince, and was the means of rendering him irresistible in the eyes of a _danseuse_ of the Grande Chaumière. It subsequently became the admiration of all the inhabitants of the Closerie du Lilas, who saw its effect on the back of a celebrated corn-cutter. By means of this coat the valet of a ‘milord’ carried off a _figurante_ from the little Théâtre des Délassemens, who mistook him for his master. The coat has come to us immediately from this last possessor, the extravagance of whose Dulcinea compelled him to part from it. Well, gentlemen, notwithstanding all these glorious souvenirs, in spite of all the conquests due to it, I _give_ it to you, gentlemen, at three francs! Three francs! there is an opportunity for those accustomed to profit by it!” The coat put up at three francs has a gradually diminishing value put upon it, until it is at last purchased at thirty sous. Morbach’s trousers go for a franc; and Blanc’s waistcoat for the small price of fifty centimes—fivepence! The garments thus purchased are often only retained for a single Sunday, some _fête_ day, on which the poor cavalier desires to look splendid, though it be with a second-hand splendour, in the eyes of his “belle.” If the costume holds together through the severe ordeal of a night’s dancing, it is often resold to the Temple merchants, who repair the damage, and again fit it to the back of some ephemeral dandy of the suburbs who wishes but to shine for “a little day.” “La Mère Moskow” drives her own trade by the side of the Meurt-de-Soifs. She is an ex-vivandière of the Grand Army, who lets out body-linen to poor gentlemen suffering from scarcity. A shirt may be hired of her for a week for the modest price of twopence, the wearer being required merely to leave his old one, by way of a security deposit. Nothing can be more delicate than, not the deposit, but the manner in which the request is made; and a shirt of La Mère Moskow might have been worn, without scruple, at Lord O’Grady’s by the Reverend Ozias Polyglot, or the better-endowed Reverend Obadiah Pringle.