VII, or Henry II, had been converted into a dwelling-house. The double
doors lay open, so that the entire ménage was open to public view. In
the open half of the wardrobe was a common sitting-room of some four
feet by six, in which sat, smoking their pipes round a charcoal brazier,
no fewer than six old soldiers of the First Republic, with their
uniforms torn and worn threadbare. Evidently they were of the _mauvais
sujet_ class; their bleary eyes and limp jaws told plainly of a common
love of absinthe; and their eyes had that haggard, worn look of
slumbering ferocity which follows hard in the wake of drink. The other
side stood as of old, with its shelves intact, save that they were cut
to half their depth, and in each shelf of which there were six, was a
bed made with rags and straw. The half-dozen of worthies who inhabited
this structure looked at me curiously as I passed; and when I looked
back after going a little way I saw their heads together in a whispered
conference. I did not like the look of this at all, for the place was
very lonely, and the men looked very, very villainous. However, I did
not see any cause for fear, and went on my way, penetrating further and
further into the Sahara. The way was tortuous to a degree, and from
going round in a series of semi-circles, as one goes in skating with the
Dutch roll, I got rather confused with regard to the points of the
compass.

When I had penetrated a little way I saw, as I turned the corner of a
half-made heap, sitting on a heap of straw an old soldier with
threadbare coat.

'Hallo!' said I to myself; 'the First Republic is well represented here
in its soldiery.'

As I passed him the old man never even looked up at me, but gazed on the