“How could they have it, Monsieur?” my housekeeper made answer. “The husband, whom you have just seen, used to be a jewellery-peddler--at least, so the concierge tells me--and nobody knows why he stopped selling watches, you have just seen that his is now selling almanacs. That is no way to make an honest living, and I never will believe that God’s blessing can come to an almanac-peddler. Between ourselves, the wife looks to me for all the world like a good-for-nothing--a Marie-couche toi-la. I think she would be just as capable of bringing up a child as I should be of playing the guitar. Nobody seems to know where they came from; but I am sure they must have come by Misery’s coach from the country of Sans-souci.” “Wherever they have come from, Therese, they are unfortunate; and their attic is cold.” “Pardi!--the roof is broken in several places and the rain comes through in streams. They have neither furniture nor clothing. I don’t think cabinet-makers and weavers work much for Christians of that sect!” “That is very sad, Therese; a Christian woman much less well provided for than this pagan, Hamilcar here!--what does she have to say?” “Monsieur, I never speak to those people; I don’t know what she says or what she sings. But she sings all day long; I hear her from the stairway whenever I am going out or coming in.” “Well! the heir of the Coccoz family will be able to say, like the Egg in the village riddle: Ma mere me fit en chantant. [“My mother sang when she brought me into the world.”] The like happened in the case of Henry IV. When Jeanne d’Albret felt herself about to be confined she began to sing an old Bearnaise canticle: “Notre-Dame du bout du pont, Venez a mon aide en cette heure! Priez le Dieu du ciel Qu’il me delivre vite, Qu’il me donne un garcon! “It is certainly unreasonable to bring little unfortunates into the world. But the thing is done every day, my dear Therese and all the philosophers on earth will never be able to reform the silly custom. Madame Coccoz has followed it, and she sings. This is creditable at all events! But, tell me, Therese, have you not put the soup to boil to-day?” “Yes, Monsieur; and it is time for me to go and skim it.” “Good! but don’t forget, Therese, to take a good bowl of soup out of the pot and carry it to Madame Coccoz, our attic neighbor.” My housekeeper was on the point of leaving the room when I added, just in time: “Therese, before you do anything else, please call your friend the porter, and tell him to take a good bundle of wood out of our stock and carry it up to the attic of those Coccoz folks. See, above all, that he puts a first-class log in the lot--a real Christmas log. As for the homunculus, if he comes back again, do not allow either himself or any of his yellow books to come in here.” Having taken all these little precautions with the refined egotism of an old bachelor, I returned to my catalogue again.