out, Monsieur Mutuel laughed a walnut-shell laugh, pulled off his cap at
arm's length with the hand that contained his snuffbox, kept it off for a
considerable period after he had parted from Madame Bouclet, and
continued his morning walk and got out, like a man of gallantry as he
was.

The documentary evidence to which Madame Bouclet had referred Monsieur
Mutuel was the list of her lodgers, sweetly written forth by her own
Nephew and Bookkeeper, who held the pen of an Angel, and posted up at the
side of her gateway, for the information of the Police: "Au second, M.
L'Anglais, Proprietaire." On the second floor, Mr. The Englishman, man
of property. So it stood; nothing could be plainer.

Madame Bouclet now traced the line with her forefinger, as it were to
confirm and settle herself in her parting snap at Monsieur Mutuel, and so
placing her right hand on her hip with a defiant air, as if nothing
should ever tempt her to unsnap that snap, strolled out into the Place to
glance up at the windows of Mr. The Englishman. That worthy happening to
be looking out of window at the moment, Madame Bouclet gave him a
graceful salutation with her head, looked to the right and looked to the
left to account to him for her being there, considered for a moment, like
one who accounted to herself for somebody she had expected not being
there, and reentered her own gateway. Madame Bouclet let all her house
giving on the Place in furnished flats or floors, and lived up the yard
behind in company with Monsieur Bouclet her husband (great at billiards),
an inherited brewing business, several fowls, two carts, a nephew, a
little dog in a big kennel, a grape-vine, a counting-house, four horses,
a married sister (with a share in the brewing business), the husband and
two children of the married sister, a parrot, a drum (performed on by the
little boy of the married sister), two billeted soldiers, a quantity of