As a quarter-past ten struck, I made inquiries of the porter in the hall and he told me which staircase led to M. Oudard's offices, otherwise the Secretariat. They were situated at the right angle of the second court of the Palais-Royal, looking upon the square from the side of the garden. I went towards this staircase and I furnished myself with fresh instructions from a second porter: the offices were on the third floor, so I climbed up. My heart was beating violently: I was entering upon another life--one which I had desired and chosen for myself this time. This staircase was leading me to my future office. Where would my future office lead me?... No one had arrived. I waited with the office-boys. The first employé who appeared was a fine big fair youth; he came singing up the stairs, and took down the office door key from a nail. I rose. "Monsieur Ernest," said one of the office-boys, the eldest of them, a lad called Raulot, "this young man wants to speak to M. Oudard." The person addressed as Ernest looked at me for a moment with his keen, clear blue eyes. "Monsieur," I said to him, "I am one of the supernumeraries, of whom you may perhaps have heard." "Ah yes! M. Alexandre Dumas," he exclaimed; "the son of General Alexandre Dumas, recommended by General Foy?" I saw he knew all about me. "I am the same," I said. "Come in," he said, going in before me and opening the door of a small room, with one window in it and three desks. "See," he continued, "you are expected; here is your seat. Everything is ready--paper, pens, ink; you have but to sit down and to draw up your chair to your desk." "Have I the pleasure of talking to one of those with whom I am destined to spend my days?" I asked. "Yes.... I have just been promoted as ordinary clerk at eighteen hundred francs; I am giving up my place as copying-clerk, and that place will be yours, after a longer or shorter probationary period." "And who is our third companion?" "He is our deputy head clerk, Lassagne." The door opened. "Hullo! who is talking about Lassagne?" asked a young man of twenty-eight to thirty, as he came in. Ernest turned round. "Ah! it is you," he replied. "I was just saying to M. Dumas,"--he pointed to me, I bowed,--"I was just telling M. Dumas that this was your place, that his, and the other mine." "Are you our new colleague?" Lassagne asked me. "Yes, monsieur." "You are welcome." And he held out his hand to me. I took it. It was one of those warm and trembling hands that it is a pleasure to shake from the first touch--a loyal hand, revealing the nature of him to whom it belonged. "Good!" I said to myself: "this man will be friendly to me, I am sure." "Listen," he said: "a word of advice. It is rumoured that you have come here with the idea of entering upon a literary career: do not talk too loudly of such a project; it will only do you harm.... Hush! that is Oudard entering his room."