“But a wax candle is what you ought to bring; as if one could use anything else! Since when has it been permissible to offer tenants a tallow candle? What do you take me for, my dear?” “Your dear! Why, monsieur, I take you--I mean I don’t take you at all; I bring you the best that I could find; there ain’t no wax candle that’s been used, and madame said that this was good enough to light your wax.” “And this place dares to call itself a hotel! There are furnished lodgings for masons here, and nothing else!” “On my word, monsieur!” “Take that candle away, I say. Pouah! how it smells! Let’s make haste.” He sealed his letter, using a topaz set in a ring, which he wore as a charm on his watch chain; then he dismissed the maid, who muttered as she left the room: “What airs he puts on! If he was a pacha, he couldn’t put on any more. Why don’t he have a hotel of his own?” “Here, my boy,” said the gentleman, when he had written the address on his letter, “take this note and this bouquet, which I stole from those gentlemen for the pleasure of playing a trick on them, for I hadn’t the slightest idea of buying a bouquet. But since I have it, I must make some use of it, and I am not sorry to show myself a gallant once more. So you will carry this bouquet and this letter to this address. Can you read?” “Yes, monsieur, a little--print; but as for hand-writing----” “Why don’t you say at once that you don’t know how to read?--Well, you are to go to Madame la Baronne de Grangeville; she lives, or at all events she did live, twelve years ago, at 27 Rue de Provence. If by any chance she has moved, ask the concierge for her new address and take the things there. If you are not an idiot, you will succeed in finding the lady. If she is visible, you will wait for a reply; if not, you will leave both with her maid, and come back here, where I will pay you; I forbid you to take anything elsewhere. Do you understand?” “Yes, monsieur.” “You remember the lady’s name?” “Baronne de Grangeville, 27 Rue de Provence.” “That’s right; now be off, and hurry back.--By the way, if before admitting you, they should ask you from whom you come, you will reply that you come from Monsieur de Roncherolle.” “Monsieur de Roncherolle; very good, monsieur.” Chicotin took his leave. Thereupon, Monsieur de Roncherolle,--for now we know that that was the gouty gentleman’s name,--placed his diseased foot on one of the chairs covered with cotton, then stretched himself in the easy-chair, rested his head against the back, and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, reflected thus: