"Really they did his Excellency too much honor. Were they not mistaken in their man?" "Oh no. They had carried his luggage into the hotel." Upon this Mr. Figgs gave strong proof of poor moral training, by breaking out into a volley of Western oaths, which shocked one half of the deputation, and made the other half grin. Still they continued respectful but firm, and reiterated their demand. Mr. Figgs called for the landlord. That gentleman was in bed. For his wife. She did not attend to the business. For the head waiter. The spokesman of the deputation, with a polite bow, informed him that the head waiter stood before him and was quite at his service. The scene was ended by the sudden entrance of Buttons, who, motioning to Mr. Figgs, proceeded to give each waiter a douceur. One after another took the proffered coin, and without looking at it, thanked the generous donor with a profusion of bows. Five minutes after the retreating form of Buttons had vanished through the door, twenty-persons, consisting of men and boys, stood staring at one another in blank amazement. Anger followed; then sac-r-r-r-_r-r-r_-R-R-R-_R-Ré_! He had given each one a _centime_. But the customs of the hotel were not to be changed by the shabby conduct of one mean-minded person. When the Club prepared to retire for the night they were taken to some rooms opening in to each other. Five waiters led the way; one waiter to each man, and each carried a pair of tall wax-candles. Mr. Figgs's waiter took him to his room, laid down the lights, and departed. The doors which connected the rooms were all opened, and Mr. Figgs walked through to see about something. He saw the Doctor, the Senator, Buttons, and Dick, each draw the short, well-used stump of a wax-candle from his coat pocket and gravely light it. Then letting the melted wax fall on the mantle-pieces they stuck their candles there, and in a short time the rooms were brilliantly illuminated. The waiters were thunderstruck. Such a procedure had never come within the compass of their experience of the ways of travellers. "Bonsoir," said Buttons. "Don't let us detain you." They went out stupefied. "What's the idea now?" inquired Mr. Figgs. "Oh. They charge a franc apiece for each candle, and that is a swindle which we will not submit to." "And will I have to be humbugged again?" "Certainly." "Botheration." "My dear Sir, the swindle of bougies is the curse of the Continental traveller. None of us are particularly prudent, but we are all on the watch against small swindles, and of them all this is the most frequent and most insidious, the most constantly and ever recurrent. Beware, my dear President, of bougies--that's what we call candles." Mr. Figgs said nothing, but leaned against the wall for a moment in a meditative mood, as if debating what he should do next. He happened to be in the Doctor's room. He had already noticed that this gentleman had no perceptible baggage, and didn't understand it.