but bearing the trace of former grandeur in pilasters and fretwork in the
style of the Renaissance, and a defaced coat of arms, surmounted with a
ducal coronet, over the doorway. The house had the aspect of desertion:
many of the windows were broken; others were jealously closed with
mouldering shutters. The door stood ajar; Lebeau pushed it open, and the
action set in movement a bell within a porter's lodge. The house, then,
was not uninhabited; it retained the dignity of a concierge. A man with
a large grizzled beard cut square, and holding a journal in his hand,
emerged from the lodge, and moved his cap with a certain bluff and surly
reverence on recognizing Lebeau.

"What! so early, citizen?"

"Is it too early?" said Lebeau, glancing at his watch. "So it is; I was
not aware of the time. But I am tired with waiting; let me into the
salon. I will wait for the rest; I shall not be sorry for a little
repose."

"Bon," said the porter, sententiously; "while man reposes men advance."

"A profound truth, citizen Le Roux; though if they advance on a reposing
foe, they have blundering leaders unless they march through unguarded
by-paths and with noiseless tread."

Following the porter up a dingy broad staircase, Lebeau was admitted into
a large room, void of all other furniture than a table, two benches at
its sides, and a fauteuil at its head. On the mantelpiece there was a
huge clock, and some iron sconces were fixed on the panelled walls.

Lebeau flung himself, with a wearied air, into the fauteuil. The porter