knocked at my shutters. `Have you received a letter for me, my good
lady?' said he--for he is always so polite, the dear man!--'No, sir,'
said I.--`Well, then, pray don't disturb yourself, my good lady!' said
he; `I will call again.' And so he went away."

"Does he never sleep in the house?"

"Never. No doubt, he lodges somewhere else--but he passes some hours
here, once every four or five days."

"And always comes alone?"

"Always."

"Are you quite sure? Does he never manage to slip in some little puss of
a woman? Take care, or Philemon will give you notice to quit," said
Rose-Pompon, with an air of mock-modesty.

"M. Charlemagne with a woman! Oh, poor dear man!" said the greengrocer,
raising her hands to heaven; "if you saw him, with his greasy hat, his
old gray coat, his patched umbrella, and his simple face, he looks more
like a saint than anything else."

"But then, Mother Arsene, what does the saint do here, all alone for
hours, in that hole at the bottom of the court, where one can hardly see
at noon-day?"

"That's what I ask myself, my dovey, what can he be doing? It can't be
that he comes to look at his furniture, for he has nothing but a flock
bed, a table, a stove, a chair, and an old trunk."