One effect it had, it put an end to Martin's insistence on obsequious service; that rags should serve rags could only make rags ridiculous. But even our humility refused to sup in the common room. There any prowler of the gutters who had five sous in his pocket could drink, game, and swear as it pleased him, which for the first two was as deep as these same five sous, and for the last at his foul throat's loudest. At first the host would have hectored us. But judiciously used, a little money can make a great noise in the world, and Martin rattled his coins. "Who pays chooses," said he, withdrawing his head from the room. "Lay for us elsewhere, landlord. When we wish to sup with mongrels in a dog-kennel we'll tell thee." With a grunt the fellow turned back across the open court, round which the inn was built, and led us to a decent, quiet, long-shaped room that bounded the further side. It was dingy, narrow, and low-ceiled, but empty. Two tables, end to end with a break between, and benches at either side, filled its centre. "Lay here," said Martin pointing to the upper end of that nearest the door. But I demurred. "No; on the second table and at the further end. It is more private." "But, Monsieur Gaspard, to be near the door--" "Is to be near draughts. We have no one to fear in Paris." "In a city where they strike dumb beasts there are always rogues." "But not to be feared." "Feared? No, but to be guarded against." "Even so, the further from the door, the less the surprise. And what, in all the world, have we to guard? Lay there, landlord." Midway through our meal of one dish came the first incursion on our solitude. Two men, one slouched and cloaked like a brigand, entered, and at sight of us, would have withdrawn again. But the landlord intervened. "In ten minutes they are done, Monsieur," said he, a new servility struggling with his old surliness. "We have no other room except sleeping rooms." "Which would not do. Bring wine and take away that candle," he went on, seating himself at the further end of the room in such a position that he faced the door. His companion, obedient to a gesture, also seated himself, but with a yard or two of space between. "Give it to these--ah--gentlemen yonder; they are almost in darkness." "They've light enough to see to their mouths," he answered insolently, "and so I'll leave it." "And I too much to see your face in," was the pat and no less insolent reply, "therefore you'll take it away." It was the right method to deal with the fellow, for he at once bowed with a cringe. "I'll fetch the wine, Monsieur; good, I suppose?" "If you've got it!" and he went, taking the candle with him. At the arbitrary limitation put upon us, Martin would have flared out had I not restrained him, and though he laughed at the stranger's bitter retort over the disputed light, he whispered, "It is not the landlord's face he loves the darkness for, but his own; see how he hides it."