noiseless, the locks well oiled, the hinges discreet, the window panes
of frosted glass, the curtain impervious to light. While the bedroom
was, as it ought to have been, in a fine disorder which would suit the
most exacting painter in water-colors; while everything therein was
redolent of the Bohemian life of a young man of fashion, the
dressing-closet was like a shrine--white, spotless, neat, and warm.
There were no draughts from door or window, the carpet had been made
soft for bare feet hastily put to the floor in a sudden panic of alarm
--which stamps him as your thoroughbred dandy that knows life; for here,
in a few moments, he may show himself either a noodle or a master in
those little details in which a man's character is revealed. The
Marquise previously quoted--no, it was the Marquise de Rochefide--came
out of that dressing-closet in a furious rage, and never went back again.
She discovered nothing 'improper' in it. Godefroid used to keep a little
cupboard full of----"

"Waistcoats?" suggested Finot.

"Come, now, just like you, great Turcaret that you are. (I shall never
form that fellow.) Why, no. Full of cakes, and fruit, and dainty
little flasks of Malaga and Lunel; an en cas de nuit in Louis
Quatorze's style; anything that can tickle the delicate and well-bred
appetite of sixteen quarterings. A knowing old man-servant, very
strong in matters veterinary, waited on the horses and groomed
Godefroid. He had been with the late M. de Beaudenord, Godefroid's
father, and bore Godefroid an inveterate affection, a kind of heart
complaint which has almost disappeared among domestic servants since
savings banks were established.

"All material well-being is based upon arithmetic. You to whom Paris