"Yes, yes, monsieur," said the old servant, continuing to rub the top of the table. "How do you know, then, whether I sleep late, whether I keep the light burning a long time, whether I am awake at night?--you who should be in your room at nine o'clock every evening and go to bed immediately." "Monsieur, I beg your pardon; but at times, when the wind blows or the thunder growls, it's impossible for me to sleep; then, monsieur, I get up to pray to my patron saint, or cross my shovel and tongs, or to place a branch of boxwood on my bed. You know boxwood conjures the storm; and if they had taken some of it formerly to the Arsenal, on the Billi Tower, it would not have been entirely destroyed by lightning in the year 1537 or '38--I don't know which exactly." "Hang it! leave your boxwood and the Billi Tower alone; answer the question I asked you." "That's what I'm doing, monsieur; it's always the wind or the storm which makes me wakeful, and as my window faces yours (when I say faces, it's a story above), then I see your light sometimes, and it seems to me that monsieur is walking about in his room. I'm not very certain of it, for there are curtains, and the shade deceives one sometimes." "As I wish to prevent you from having the trouble of making sure that I am asleep, this evening you will change your room, and you will sleep in that which is above my apartments." "What, monsieur! in that room where nobody ever goes? I do not believe that it has been inhabited since I came here, and I fear--" "That's enough; see that you obey; and take care not to spy again on my actions, or I shall be forced to send you away from the house." "Mercy! how ashamed I am at having made you scold Marguerite!" said Blanche, again approaching the barber. "If she said that, my friend, it was because of the interest she takes in your health. You know well that she is very much attached to you; but since it makes you angry, I promise you it shall not occur again. Come, that's the last of it; you won't say any more to her about it--will you?" Blanche's voice was so sweet, so touching, that Touquet lost his air of severity and very nearly smiled as he answered,-- "Yes, that's the last of it; let us there leave it. As to you, Blanche, continue to be good, docile." "And you will let me go out a little--will you not? You will allow me to go to walk in the Pre-aux-Clercs or on the Place Royale?" "We shall see; we shall see a little later. To amuse yourself, vary your employments." "That's what I do, my dear; I often leave my needle to spin some thread; or, better still, I take my tapestry work. Oh, you shall see; I'm making something very pretty." "I know your talent--your taste. You have a sitar; you can amuse yourself by playing on it. Chaudoreille has given you some lessons."