"No sir, I want real chairs and tables in solid mahogany."

"Alas! Neither gold nor mahogany makes us happy, as for the ancient poet
well says. And I can't bear mahogany; it's too common a wood. Everybody
has it."

"But surely sir, you must have some sort of furniture."

"No, it takes up too much room. You are stuck full of chairs, and have
no place to sit down."

"But at any rate, you have a bed. What do you sleep on?"

"On a good conscience, sir."

"Excuse me, one more question," said the landlord, "What is your
profession?"

At this very moment the young man's porter, returning on his second
trip, entered the court. Among the articles with which his truck was
loaded, an easel occupied a conspicuous position.

"Sir! Sir!!" shrieked old Durance, pointing out the easel to his
landlord, "it's a painter!"

"I was sure he was an artist!" exclaimed the landlord in his turn, the
hair of his wig standing up in affright, "a painter!! And you never
inquired after this person," he continued to his porter, "you didn't
know what he did!"