So Beauvinet presented himself before the gouty gentleman, his apron turned up, and pulling his wig over his right ear, which necessarily caused the left side to rise; but one ordinarily obeys the most urgent need, and it was only on extraordinary occasions that Beauvinet pulled both sides of his wig at once; even then he dared not do it except with great precaution, because one day when he indulged in that manoeuvre, he had heard an ominous cracking on the top of his head, as if his wig were about to be transformed into a crown; and the perquisites of his position were too small to allow him to purchase a new wig. "Monsieur rang, monsieur knocked, monsieur called, I believe?" said Beauvinet, showing his bloated and wrinkled face. "Sacrebleu! yes, I did ring and I did knock; I would have set the house on fire if there had been any fire on the hearth." "Fire! mon Dieu! is monsieur very cold? Why, it is warm----" "Hold your tongue! and answer." "Why, monsieur----" "And try to let that shocking wig of yours alone; it annoys me to see you always jerking that sorry thing." "Why, monsieur----" "Silence! Who is it that lives here, in this apartment next to me? Is it a new neighbor that I have there?" "Yes, monsieur, that fine apartment has only been let a week." "To whom?" "To a very fashionable, a very distinguished young man, who dresses as if he went to the opera every day, and who spends money----" "Ah! I understand why you call him very fashionable; what is the man's name?" "Monsieur Alfred de Saint-Arthur." "_Bigre!_ that's a magnificent stage name! no one ever has such names except in farces or at the Gymnase." "Beg pardon, monsieur, I don't understand." "You are not obliged to. Listen, Beauvinet: your Monsieur Saint-Arthur, or Saint-Alfred, no matter which, has behaved very well for a week, as I didn't know that I had a neighbor; but why in the devil has he taken it into his head to have a parrot to-day, and to teach him to talk?" "Beg pardon, monsieur, but it isn't a parrot that the gentleman brought home this morning, it is a caca--a cato--mon Dieu! he told me the name----" "A cockatoo, no doubt?" "Yes, monsieur, that's the name; he is a fine creature, I tell you, with a thing on his head so that you'd swear he's a turkey with his comb."