“Certainly! certainly!... This is the last rehearsal, my old veteran; they _arrive_ to-morrow.... Light up, man--light up!” The old man shuffled about the room in his thick felt slippers, setting candles aflame until the place was a blaze of light. Horace’s eyes went over the details of the room. “Those rogues sent a fresh new bed, eh? You saw to that, eh?” “The sommier was as monsieur had ordered it--ab-so-lu-ment.” The old man stopped in the midst of lighting a last candle to point to the couch-ottoman that is the student’s lounge by day and bed by night. Horace nodded: “Good!... The rest of the furniture, though not too profuse, looks far from too new. We showed taste in our choice, my old veteran. Now, you will not forget your lesson? Monsieur Horace has sent what he did not want from his own studio; but there was no stove nor towels, and you have taken the liberty to buy a stove and a dozen towels which were a bargain and they only cost you twelve francs! God forgive me! You have it all in your head, all under that embroidered cap, my husband of concierges, eh?” The old man bowed, shrugged his shoulders, and held out his open palms in the protest of indignation: “Has monsieur yet known me to forget anything?” Horace blew out a cloud of smoke, frowning at his thoughts.... He put his hand in the breast-pocket of his coat and drew out a bundle of banknotes. He beckoned the old man to him; put five of them into his hand, and shut the old fingers upon them: “My friend,” said he, putting his hand on the old fellow’s shoulder--“there will always be here, early every morning for an hour or so, a woman, _une femme de ménage_, to make beds and brush and sweep and keep things tidy--besides, you and madam will, I know, have business up in this part of the house--at times that will just happen to be useful to the young lady who is coming here. There will be water wanted, and breakfast rolls and milk and things. And--I shall not forget that you do not forget them.” The old man nodded, smiled. “I will have business on the sixth floor morning and evening, monsieur,” he said--“and my wife also; I know of an excellent woman.” “Good!... Now put out the lights.” The old man shuffled round the room, and blew out the candles.... They locked the door and went down the stairs together. Horace turned suddenly on the first landing: “Husband of concierges--we have forgot the baths.” “Mon Dieu, monsieur--yes.” “They will be there to-morrow?” “It will be there to-morrow, m’sieu.” “They--my veteran--they! _Two_ baths.” “They shall be there, m’sieu.” Horace ran down the stairs; called “Good-night!” and was gone. The old man scratched his head: “My God!” said he; “how these English are always washing! That will be two extra cans to carry up.”