"I should think so! Three rooms and a cabinet on the front, nearly furnished, without counting a garret for her female servant, eighty francs a month, and paid in advance by her uncle, to whom she gives one of her rooms as a stopping-place when he comes from the country. After all, I believe his country house is the Rue Vivienne, Rue Saint Honore, or in the environs of those places." "Understood! she is an independent lady, because the old one pays her rent." "Hush, here is her maid." A woman rather advanced in life, wearing a white apron of doubtful purity, entered the shop. "What can I do for you, Madame Charles?" "Daddy Micou, your nephew is not here?" "He has gone on an errand to the post-office; he will soon return." "M. Badinot wishes he would take this letter to its address; there is no answer, but it is very urgent." "In a quarter of an hour it shall be on the way." "Let him hurry." "Be easy." The maid retired. "That's the servant of one of your lodgers, Micou?" "Madame Saint Ildefonso's. But M. Badinot is her uncle; he came yesterday from the country, "answered Micou. "But see, now, what fine acquaintances they have! I told you they were people of style; he writes to a viscount." "No!" "Well, look: 'To his Lordship the Viscount of Saint Remy, Rue de Chaillot. Haste, haste! (_Private_).' I hope that when one lodges people who have uncles who write to viscounts, one can very well overlook a poor devil in the fourth story who has no passport!" "I think so. Well, good-bye for the present, Micou; I am going to fasten my dog and cart to your door; I will carry what I have to carry myself. Have my goods and money ready on my return." "All shall be ready. But, I say, before you go I must tell you, since you have been here, I have watched you." "Well?" "I don't know, but you seem to have something the matter with you." "I?" "Yes." "You are a fool. I am hungry." "Hungry! it is possible, but I should say that you wish to appear lively, but at the bottom there is something that bites and pinches you--conscience, as they say; and to trouble you it must bite hard, for you are no prude." "I tell you, you are crazy, Micou," said Nicholas, shuddering in spite of himself. "One would say that you tremble." "My arm pains me." "Then don't forget my recipe: it will cure you." "Thank you, Father Micou. Good-bye," said Nicholas, taking his departure. The receiver, after having concealed the copper, busied himself in collecting the different articles for Nicholas, when a new personage entered the shop. He was a man of about fifty, with a knowing face, heavy gray whiskers, and gold spectacles; he was dressed with some care; the large sleeves of his brown paletot, with velvet cuffs, displayed his straw-colored gloves; his boots undoubtedly the evening previous had been brilliantly polished. Such was M. Badinot, the uncle of Madame de Saint Ildefonso, whose social position was the pride and security of Micou the Fence.