where on the threshold of a shop sat a stout woman busily knitting, over
whom one read in big yellow letters, "Widow Masson." He saluted the
woman, and asked--

"Is there not a cellar to let in this house?"

"There is, master," answered the widow.

"Can I speak to the owner?"

"And that is myself, by your leave."

"Will you show me the cellar? I am a provincial wine merchant, my
business often brings me to Paris, and I want a cellar where I could
deposit wine which I sell on commission."

They went down together. After examining the place, and ascertaining
that it was not too damp for the expensive wine which he wished to leave
there, the man agreed about the rent, paid the first term in advance, and
was entered on the widow Masson's books under the name of Ducoudray. It
is hardly necessary to remark that it should have been Derues.

When he returned home in the evening, his wife told him that a large box
had arrived.

"It is all right," he said, "the carpenter from whom I ordered it is a
man of his word." Then he supped, and caressed his children. The next
day being Sunday, he received the communion, to the great edification of
the devout people of the neighbourhood.