till eleven. There he listened to political discussions, his arms
crossed on his cane, his chin in his right hand, never saying a word.
The dame du comptoir, the only woman to whom he ever spoke with
pleasure, was the sole confidant of the little events of his life, for
his seat was close to her counter. He played dominoes, the only game
he was capable of understanding. When his partners did not happen to
be present, he usually went to sleep with his back against the
wainscot, holding a newspaper in his hand, the wooden file resting on
the marble of his table. He was interested in the buildings going up
in Paris, and spent his Sundays in walking about to examine them. He
was often heard to say, "I saw the Louvre emerge from its rubbish; I
saw the birth of the place du Chatelet, the quai aux Fleurs and the
Markets." He and his brother, both born at Troyes, were sent in youth
to serve their apprenticeship in a government office. Their mother
made herself notorious by misconduct, and the two brothers had the
grief of hearing of her death in the hospital at Troyes, although they
had frequently sent money for her support. This event led them both
not only to abjure marriage, but to feel a horror of children; ill at
ease with them, they feared them as others fear madmen, and watched
them with haggard eyes.

Since the day when he first came to Paris Poiret junior had never gone
outside the city. He began at that time to keep a journal of his life,
in which he noted down all the striking events of his day. Du Bruel
told him that Lord Byron did the same thing. This likeness filled
Poiret junior with delight, and led him to buy the works of Lord
Byron, translated by Chastopalli, of which he did not understand a
word. At the office he was often seen in a melancholy attitude, as
though absorbed in thought, when in fact he was thinking of nothing at
all. He did not know a single person in the house where he lived, and