The young woman took all the volumes under her arm and went out, after casting another rapid glance in my direction. She was succeeded by a woman with a round cap and calico wrapper. She brought back only a single book, which she laid on the desk, saying: “Great heaven! we had hard work to finish it! I thought that we would never see the end!” “It is true that you have had the book nearly a month.” “Oh, dear me! we don’t read fast at our house; you see, as a general thing, my man reads to me while I am working; and as he still has the catarrh, he stops at every comma to cough. Never mind, it’s mighty interesting. I cried hard with that poor girl who spends fifteen years in the underground dungeon, with nothing but bread and water to eat. She must have had a good stomach, I tell you, not to be sick.” “Do you want something else?” “Yes, to be sure. Something about robbers, if you please, and about ghosts, if you have anything, because a novel with robbers and ghosts in it can’t help being interesting. Oh! and then I want something with pictures, some of those lovely pictures of crimes. I am very fond of pictures, I am; and then you see, I say to myself: ‘a novel that they don’t spend the money to put pictures in, why it can’t have Peru behind it.’ Don’t I hit the mark?” “Here is something, madame, that will interest you greatly.” “What is it?” “_The Ghosts of the Nameless Château_, or _The Brigands of the Abandoned Quarry_.” “Ah! what a splendid title! what a ring there is to it! Let’s look at the pictures. A man eating a skeleton. Bless my soul! that must be good. I don’t want to see any more; I’ll take the _Ghosts_, and I’ll go and buy some jujube paste for my husband, so that he won’t cough quite so much when he’s reading.” The worthy woman who loved pictures was succeeded by an elderly man who also wanted a novel. He was asked what sort of story he wanted; but it mattered little to him: he wanted it to read in bed at night, something that would put him to sleep right away. What he wanted was found at once.