stepping. Above a chest of drawers in rosewood hung a portrait done in
pastel,--Molineux in his youth. There were also books, tables covered
with shabby green bandboxes, on a bracket a number of his deceased
canaries stuffed; and, finally, a chilly bed that might formerly have
belonged to a Carmelite.

* * * * *

Cesar Birotteau was delighted with the extreme politeness of Molineux,
whom he found wrapped in a gray woollen dressing-gown, watching his
milk in a little metal heater on the edge of his fireplace, while his
coffee-grounds were boiling in a little brown earthenware jug from
which, every now and then, he poured a few drops into his coffee-pot.
The umbrella-man, anxious not to disturb his landlord, had gone to the
door to admit Birotteau. Molineux held the mayors and deputies of the
city of Paris in much esteem; he called them "my municipal officers."
At sight of the magistrate he rose, and remained standing, cap in
hand, until the great Birotteau was seated.

"No, monsieur; yes, monsieur; ah, monsieur, if I had known I should
have had the honor of receiving in the bosom of my humble _penates_ a
member of the municipality of Paris, believe me I should have made it
my duty to call upon you, although I am your landlord--or, on the
point of becoming so."

Birotteau made him a sign to put on his cap.

"No, I shall not; not until you are seated, and have replaced yours,
if you feel the cold. My room is chilly, the smallness of my means not
permitting--God grant your wishes!" he added, as Birotteau sneezed