CHAPTER IV

ALI RODOLPHE; OR, THE TURK PERFORCE


Ostracized by an inhospitable proprietor, Rodolphe had for some time
been leading a life compared with which the existence of a cloud is
rather stationary. He practiced assiduously the arts of going to bed
without supper, and supping without going to bed. He often dined with
Duke Humphrey, and generally slept at the sign of a clear sky. Still,
amid all these crosses and troubles, two things never forsook him; his
good humor and the manuscript of "The Avenger," a drama which had gone
the rounds of all the theaters in Paris.

One day Rodolphe, who had been jugged for some slight choreographic
extravagances, stumbled upon an uncle of his, one Monetti, a stove maker
and smokey chimney doctor, and sargeant of the National Guard, whom he
had not seen for an age. Touched by his nephew's misfortunes, Uncle
Monetti promised to ameliorate his position. We shall see how, if the
reader is not afraid of mounting six stories.

Take note of the banister, then, and follow. Up we go! Whew! One hundred
and twenty-five steps! Here we are at last. One more step, and we are in
the room; one more yet, and we should be out of it again. It's little,
but high up, with the advantages of good air and a fine prospect.