"Rue de l'Orillon, Barriere de Belleville. I will tell you when we reach my hotel."--Then he stretched himself out comfortably on the back seat, with his feet on the other, murmuring: "The day has been complete. An excellent dinner, punch, cards, a ball, and a duel! And this morning I hadn't the wherewithal to buy a small loaf! In my place, a fool would have jumped into the water. But, with clever people, there is always some resource." XVII FURNISHED LODGINGS ON RUE DE L'ORILLON Rue de l'Orillon, which is outside the barrier, near the Belleville theatre, bears not the slightest resemblance to Rue de Rivoli, or to Rue de la Paix. There is much mud there at almost all seasons, and there are very few shops of the Magasin du Prophete variety; indeed, I think that I can safely say that there are none. It was in a wretched furnished lodging on this street outside the walls that the ci-devant Beau Arthur, who had once dwelt in the fashionable precincts of the Champs-Elysees and the Chaussee d'Antin, had been compelled to take up his abode. He did not often pay his rent; however, on the day when he received his quarterly stipend, he sometimes persuaded himself to give two or three five-franc pieces to his landlady, and she waited patiently for her arrears, because she was proud to furnish lodgings to a man who had once had thirty-five thousand francs a year, and who still retained a trace of his former social position in his manners and his language. The room occupied by Cherami was not furnished like the apartments of the Hotel du Louvre. A blue wallpaper, at thirteen sous a roll, took the place of hangings; but this paper, already old, was torn in several places, and the breaches were concealed by scraps of paper of a different design, and, in many instances, of a different color, which gave to the room a sort of Harlequin aspect which was not altogether disagreeable--especially to those persons who like that costume. Now, Harlequins are very popular in Rue de l'Orillon. A miserable cot-bed, surmounted by a rod which had never been gilded, and over which was thrown a curtain of yellow cloth much too narrow to surround the bed, stood opposite the window. At the foot of the bed was a screen four feet high, which was supposed to be a protection against the wind that came in under the ill-fitted door. A Louis XVI commode, an old Louis XV armchair, and a desk which claimed to be Louis XIII, with a few common chairs, were all the furniture that the apartment contained. On the mantel were two kitchen candlesticks, a small box of matches, and several cigar-butts, but not a single pipe: Arthur would have deemed himself a dishonored man if he had put a pipe to his lips. It was noon, and Cherami lay on his bed, having just waked up. He stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and, glancing at the window, said to himself: