With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and
comfort which far exceeded his humble requirements.

"The blackbeetles and I are old friends," he concluded cheerfully.

"There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur," said Desiree,
hesitating to accept his proposal.

"Then I shall resign myself to my solitude," he answered. "It is
quiet. I shall not hear the patron touching on his violin. It is
that which occupies his leisure, is it not?"

"Yes," answered Desiree, still considering the question.

"I too am a musician," said Papa Barlasch, turning towards the
kitchen again. "I played a drum at Marengo."

And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back of
the kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling
for the gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made,
who occupied his leisure by touching the violin.

They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the
promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own
accommodation.

"Those trunks," he observed casually, "were made in France"--a
mental note which he happened to make aloud, as some do for better
remembrance. "This solid girl and I will soon move them. And you,
mademoiselle, go back to your wedding."