The gentleman finally stopped in front of a small furnished lodging house, of very modest appearance, on Rue de Bretagne. He turned to the messenger and said with a smile: “Here we are, this is my hotel. It doesn’t come up to Hôtel Meurice, or even to Hôtel des Ambassadeurs! Other times, other hotels.--Follow me.” Chicotin followed the gentleman, who went up to the third floor and entered a room comfortably furnished, but without taste or style or harmony; the bed was mahogany, the bureau oak, and the chairs walnut; the bed curtains were modern in style; but there were curtains at the windows which were suitable for a peasant’s cottage at best; in short, all the articles of furniture seemed to swear at finding themselves together, and the occupant of the room also made a wry face at finding himself surrounded by such things. He threw himself down on a sort of couch, on which castors had been put to give it some resemblance to an easy-chair _à la Voltaire_, and said to the young messenger who had remained in the middle of the room: “Well, what do you say to this? It is magnificent, isn’t it?” Chicotin shook his head as he replied: “Well! it isn’t bad, but I’ve seen better.” “Good! I am very glad to see that you know a thing or two! The fact is that this house is furnished in the most wretched fashion! I have no idea where they could have picked up all this stuff; a second-hand dealer would never recognize himself here; and when one has lived a long while at the Hôtel Meurice, one finds a terrible difference! But still one resigns oneself to it, when one cannot do otherwise. Wait while I write a line; then you will carry my letter and this bouquet. Just pull that bell over there.” Chicotin pulled the bell; a maid-servant, covered with a layer of dust from top to toe, answered the summons and said: “What does monsieur want?” “Light to seal a letter, for there is nothing here! not a candle on the mantelpiece, no sealing wax on this desk--if that’s what you call it.” “But there’s wafers in the box where the night light is. Look, monsieur.” “Will you be kind enough to take all that away! Do you suppose that I would touch that filthy box? Do you suppose that I use wafers? I tell you that I want wax, a seal and a candle. Come, make haste.” The girl left the room grumbling. The gentleman moved his chair to the desk and began to write, swearing at the paper, the pens and the sand. The maid returned, bringing a copper candlestick, with a tallow candle lighted, and a stick of wax, which she placed on the desk. “As for a seal,” she said, “madame says that she ain’t got any, but that a big sou will do just as well.” “What’s this you have brought me?” cried the gentleman, pushing the candle away in disgust. “Ah! what an outrage!” “What’s that? an outrage! I’ve brought what you ordered.” “You dare to bring me a tallow candle--for this certainly is tallow, isn’t it?” “Of course it’s a tallow candle, as you want to use sealing wax.”