might be in your way."

"Monsieur Porter," exclaimed the artist, with a dignified air, "you
mistrust me, perhaps! Do you think I am carrying away my furniture in a
handkerchief?"

"Excuse me," answered the porter, dropping his tone a little, "but such
are my orders. Monsieur Bernard has expressly charged me not to let you
take away a hair before you have paid."

"But look, will you?" said Schaunard, opening his bundle, "these are not
hairs, they are shirts, and I am taking them to my washerwoman, who
lives next door to the money changer's twenty steps off."

"That alters the case," said the porter, after he had examined the
contents of the bundle. "Would it be impolite, Monsieur Schaunard, to
inquire your new address?"

"Rue de Rivoli!" replied the artist, and having once got outside the
gate, he made off as fast as possible.

"Rue de Rivoli!" muttered the porter, scratching his nose, "it's very
odd they should have let him lodgings in the Rue de Rivoli, and never
come here to ask about him. Very odd, that. At any rate, he can't carry
off his furniture without paying. If only the new tenant don't come
moving in just as Monsieur Schaunard is moving out! That would make a
nice mess! Well, sure enough," he exclaimed, suddenly putting his head
out of his little window, "here he comes, the new tenant!"

In fact, a young man in a white hat, followed by a porter who did not