"I, despise Place aux Chats! God forbid, dear Madame Cadichard! On the contrary, I consider it most romantic; and then I, being afraid of nothing, not even of ghosts and phantoms, am not at all sorry to live just opposite a cemetery; for if it should happen to occur to some dead man to come to say a word to me at night, I swear to you that I should be overjoyed to have news from the other world." "Hush--impious man!--He makes me shudder over my soup!--You know perfectly well that the dead don't return!" "I know that there are a great many things that don't return, unhappily; and you know it, too, plump Cadichard!" "What do you mean by that, monsieur le chevalier?" "Mon Dieu! how time flies with us all!--But let us return to your Spanish grandee, who has chosen the Hôtel du Sanglier for his abode; he must have a numerous suite of servants and horses and carriages?" "Not at all; he has none of those things. He is alone; it seems that he is at Paris incognito!" "What! not an esquire, not a valet, not even a single little mule to prance along the Fossés Jaunes?" "Nothing, I tell you; for he doesn't go to court, so that the grands seigneurs of his acquaintance need not know that he is in Paris." Passedix shook his head and muttered: "Hum! a Spanish grandee who hasn't one poor lackey in his service--that seems suspicious to me! Where does this noble cavalier pass his time, pray, if he doesn't frequent good society, the agreeable rakes of the court, and dandies like myself." "Monsieur de Carvajal doesn't often go out during the day. In the first place, he rises very late; but, to tell the truth, he comes home very late, too. As he doesn't want to disturb anyone, he has told Popelinette not to sit up for him; he asked me to give him a duplicate key to the street door, so that he can come in at whatever hour of the night he pleases; and he takes pains not to make any noise, for we never hear him coming and going; it seems that in Spain people are in the habit of walking about at night." "In Spain, perhaps, because it's warm there and the nights are fine; but here, where it still freezes in the morning--for our spring is devilishly behindhand! I believe that your gallant stranger is a blade who does his work under the rose. There must be some love intrigue on the carpet--some husband to be deceived.--Sandioux! I don't blame your Spaniard for that. Love is such a delicious thing--and when it attacks us--ah!" Here Passedix heaved a sigh which lasted so long that his hostess dropped her spoon and stared at him, as if trying to make out whether she had anything to do with that prolonged groan. But the Gascon, instead of responding to the Widow Cadichard's alluring glance, turned away abruptly and began to pace the floor, crying: "Cadédis! Popelinette does not return! it is insufferable! I want to dress!" "Dress? I didn't know that you had any other doublet than that."