“Well,” said he, “I cannot reject the only friend left me; and while I live--. But I will make no professions. Quick, then, our luggage is already gone, and I hear Birnie grunting the rogue’s march of retreat.” Morton’s toilet was soon completed, and the three associates bade adieu to the bureau. Birnie, who was taciturn and impenetrable as ever, walked a little before as guide. They arrived, at length, at a serrurier’s shop, placed in an alley near the Porte St. Denis. The serrurier himself, a tall, begrimed, blackbearded man, was taking the shutters from his shop as they approached. He and Birnie exchanged silent nods; and the former, leaving his work, conducted them up a very filthy flight of stairs to an attic, where a bed, two stools, one table, and an old walnut-tree bureau formed the sole articles of furniture. Gawtrey looked rather ruefully round the black, low, damp walls, and said in a crestfallen tone: “We were better off at the Temple of Hymen. But get us a bottle of wine, some eggs, and a frying-pan. By Jove, I am a capital hand at an omelet!” The serrurier nodded again, grinned, and withdrew. “Rest here,” said Birnie, in his calm, passionless voice, that seemed to Morton, however, to assume an unwonted tone of command. “I will go and make the best bargain I can for our furniture, buy fresh clothes, and engage our places for Tours.” “For Tours?” repeated Morton. “Yes, there are some English there; one can live wherever there are English,” said Gawtrey. “Hum!” grunted Birnie, drily, and, buttoning up his coat, he walked slowly away. About noon he returned with a bundle of clothes, which Gawtrey, who always regained his elasticity of spirit wherever there was fair play to his talents, examined with great attention, and many exclamations of “Bon!--c’est va.” “I have done well with the Jew,” said Birnie, drawing from his coat pocket two heavy bags. “One hundred and eighty napoleons. We shall commence with a good capital.” “You are right, my friend,” said Gawtrey. The serrurier was then despatched to the best restaurant in the neighbourhood, and the three adventurers made a less Socratic dinner than might have been expected. CHAPTER VI. “Then out again he flies to wing his marry round.” THOMPSON’S Castle of Indolence. “Again he gazed, ‘It is,’ said he, ‘the same; There sits he upright in his seat secure, As one whose conscience is correct and pure.’”--CRABBE. The adventurers arrived at Tours, and established themselves there in a lodging, without any incident worth narrating by the way.