EDINBURGH

JOURNAL

No. 224. NEW SERIES.

DOMESTIC ACCOMPLISHMENTS. THE term accomplishments is so commonly applied to what are thought merely ornamental arts and graces, that the use of the sober word domestic in connection with it may excite some surprise. I commence my explanation with an assertion that there are two kinds of utility-the one material, and the other spiritual; the one contributing to the sustenance of the bodily existence, the other to the enrichment of our intellectual nature. Hence when we speak of objects of utility, it is narrowing the word to limit it to visible and tangible things. In one sense, that only is useful which is convertible, in some form or other, into bread; in the other, that is of the first and highest utility which, whether or not it advantage the body, serves to promote the wellbeing of the mind. If we turn to God's creation, we shall find provision made for both ends, and this more richly than at first sight we may be able to perceive. Let us for a moment imagine a world into which only the lower kind of utility had entered, in order that we may see how marvellously they have been blended in our own. Beginning with rain and dew, why might not the earth have been sufficiently watered by a great black cloud, which should fill the heavens periodically from zenith to horizon? Why might not the flowers have fulfilled all their chemical functions without those delicately-veined petals, and the birds performed their appointed tasks without that dainty plumage and that exquisite song? The outward form of this higher utility men have agreed to call beauty; but unhappily they have too often divorced it from the lower, with which, in nature, it is connected; and thus, on the one hand, we have utilitarians decrying all that cannot be turned into pence; on the other, idle dilettanti, who imagine the world to be a mere spectacle, and forget the saying of St Paul, that if a man will not work, neither shall he eat.' One of the great objects for which beauty was bestowed, was undoubtedly that it might be a means of uniting together those who are divided by motives of interest and gain. The essential principle of material utility is exclusiveness, just as that of spiritual is comprehensiveness and universality. Every vegetable I gather for my own table is one less to be given to my neighbour; whereas the greater the number of persons who can inhale the fragrance of my flowergarden, the more perfect my individual delight in the Now the larger part of our daily life is a prolonged attempt to obtain those substantial benefits which begin and end with ourselves; and the inevitable tendency of this is to make us selfish and hard-natured, unless some counteracting influence be set to work. Having divided men by the necessities of daily labour, we must endeavour to reunite them by innocent relaxations; and on this account amusements require the

same.

PRICE 11d.

deepest consideration, for they are connected with our social wellbeing in a variety of ways. Business and enjoyment should act and react on one another, as the centripetal and centrifugal forces do in nature: we want the one to give steadiness and stability to the life, the other to provide expansion for the feelings and ventilation for the mind. But for this latter purpose it is impossible to work much on a large scale; we must content ourselves, for the most part, with the resources the family affords; and I, for one, am persuaded, that if these were turned to better account, our social evils would be found to diminish both in number and extent.

But for a wish to leave the reader sufficient interest to pursue the subject for himself, I might have gone into the philosophy of amusements, as connected with morality, and shown how community of enjoyment serves to bind men together in heart. Turning my back, however, on the theoretical side of the subject, I proceed to consider some of its leading particulars, in the hope that an acquaintance with the simplicity of the necessary means may be a stimulus to our efforts in the cause of social reformation.

I would, in the first place, urge that whatever elegant acquirements we may chance to have made, instead of being reserved for rare occasions, should be suffered to shed their softening influence on our every-day existence. The prints should not be carefully kept out of sight of the children of the family, and turned over only for the benefit of the stranger; the pictures should not be curtained except when there is company; or the piano be dumb because there is no one but ourselves' to listen. There may be less triumph, but there is surely equal if not greater happiness in singing by the fireside than in warbling in the saloon; and though the thanks of father or of brother be homely in expression, there is more sweetness in them than in all the studied commonplaces of society.

A sadder sight can scarcely be conceived than that of the spirit of dulness taking possession of the family circle. We see it in the husband who, hour by hour, gazes moodily at the fire; in the wife who occupies herself with her mechanical employment, without seeking to break the enchanted silence. Neither entertains the intention of injuring the other, and yet they are mutually defrauded of the happiness they ought to enjoy. Both are conscious of an unsatisfied want, an unfulfilled desire; and this influencing their manner without their being aware of it, the consequence is, that they become mutually repellent. Now what would have prevented them from subsiding into this state at first, and what is most likely to rouse them from it? Clearly something that would not only offer bodily rest, but quiet and gentle excitement of mind; something that would remind them of the world of beauty in which we dwell, and of the thousand objects of inte

rest by which we are surrounded. Surely in nature or art there must be something that would fix their interest, if they could succeed in finding it out. But the pleasures we desire to enjoy we must be at the pains of making for ourselves.

In the domestic relationship there ought to be no selfishness. The pleasure of one should be the happiness of all; and this surely can be attained without unduly encroaching on individuality. Wives are sometimes heard to complain that their husbands do not talk to and confide in them; they leave them to mope and become nervish. This is undoubtedly true; but the husbands as frequently allege that it is no use pouring out their feelings to their wives, because they don't sympathise with them. Perhaps the misunderstanding arises from women not sufficiently comprehending that men have spirits to be cheered-hobbies, it may be, requiring a degree of sympathy-faculties which cannot brook being subdued, without danger to the temper. Man, in short, 'cannot live on bread alone;' he needs something besides bodily comforts. A wife of course is not without excuse; but granted that she has her express household duties, and also matters of some little moment to herself to attend to, would it not be better that the new cap should go untrimmed, or perhaps be finished by less skilful hands, than that the being she has vowed to cherish' should come home 'seeking rest, and finding none.' The common idea with regard to rest is, that it consists of a bright fire, an easy-chair, and a comfortable pair of slippers; and under this impression, when the husband has been provided with tea and toast, he is considered to be disposed of for the remainder of the evening. That for a certain class of persons this suffices, I am ready to admit; but happily there are minds not so easily satisfied minds for whom comfort is not synonymous with happiness, whose rest is found in change of employment rather than in idleness. Many of these read, and find interest for themselves; an interest in which, unhappily, the wife is no partaker; others seek abroad what is denied them at home, and regard their own houses as places where they can be boarded and lodged. That we are all disposed to seek the causes of our failures anywhere rather than in ourselves, is a fact which no one will be hardy enough to deny. But for this unfortunate tendency, it might have been hoped that our mistakes would teach us wisdom; and that, seeing our present habits were unfavourable to domestic happiness, we should revise them, with a view to remedying what had been wrong. My own impression of the duty of the mistress of a family is, that it is broader than it is commonly supposed to be, and extends to supplying not only the bodily, but also the spiritual wants of its members. I conceive it to be incumbent on her, as far as possible, to bestow happiness on all who belong to her circle; and this applies peculiarly to him whose very existence is bound up with her own. The care of the linen, and the control of the larder, too often stand in place of sympathy and companionship; and sad as it is to hear it imputed to men that they care principally for dinner, can it be wondered at if it is the only thing they can make sure of getting?

perceived by many of its admirers: a sweet melody binds all hearts together, as it were, with a golden cord; it makes the pulses beat in unison, and the hearts thrill with sympathy. But the music of the fireside must be simple and unpretending; it does not require brilliancy of execution, but tenderness of feeling-a merry tune for the young, and a more subdued strain for the aged, but none of the noisy clap-trap which is so popu lar in public. It is a mistake to suppose that to enjoy music requires great cultivation; the degree of enjoyment will of course vary with our power of appreciation, but like all other great influences, it is able to attract even the ignorant; and this is what the poets taught when they made Orpheus and his brethren the civilisers of the earth. Begin with simple airs, and you may gradually ascend to the highest music, for the taste will be formed at the same time that the mind is refreshed; and those who begin with admiring only the simple ballad of the nursery, will end with delighting in the productions of the great masters of song.

Much remains to be said with regard to music; but my desire is to indicate rather than to amplify. I will therefore proceed to mention another domestic accomplishment' to which I attach the highest valuethe power of reading aloud agreeably and well. Unhappily this is very rare. For every three women who can sing, it would be difficult to find one who can be said to read well; that is, who so completely possesses herself of the meaning of a writer, as to be able to give us his thoughts in all their original freshness and force. Highly as I value music and singing, I do not know whether reading is not, on the whole, more important; for it may be made to include all tastes, and to suit all times, and combines intellectual profit with spiritual delight. The man who can sit by his own fireside to hear his favourite authors in the tones of a voice at once familiar and dear, will feel little interest in public amusements, and little temptation from any kind or species of excitement. And how the happiness that follows is intensified to both by the fact of its being enjoyed in common. It is blessed to be ministered to by those we love-more blessed than anything, save to minister.

And now let me anticipate one objection: that the foregoing remarks are addressed to certain classes, and to those only; that they apply to people who are surrounded by luxuries, and not to those who earn their daily bread in the sweat of their brow. This arises from confounding the graceful and the costly, and imagining that elegance presupposes wealth; whereas it is possible to see the highest refinement in those who are destitute of all the luxuries of life. In cases where musical instruments are not within reach, we may modulate our own voices, and make them give forth sweet sounds; we may sing those simple strains which require neither teaching nor skill, but which, if they come from one heart, are sure of finding their way to another.

and to lighten the labours undertaken on our behalf? May these duties be better fulfilled as the years advance, and may our sympathy be yielded with that cordial alacrity which is its greatest charm! Above all, may none of the frivolities of fashion or of custom be suffered to obscure the brightness of our domestic happiness!

THE MYSTERIOUS LODGER. MONSIEUR HYACINTHE was a quiet middle-aged widower of retired habits, and an exceedingly cautious and timid disposition. It was one of his firmly-rooted beliefs that the whole world was in a kind of league to oppress him, and defraud him of his rights—a feeling which prevented him from agreeing with any one, from his important and stately landlord, Monsieur Moreau, down to his sharp-tempered portress, Madame Latour.

Owing to this peculiarity, M. Hyacinthe resided alone in a small apartment on the third floor of a quiet house in a retired neighbourhood. As he kept no servant, he had economically resolved to underlet, furnished, a small servants' room on the fourth floor, which belonged to his apartment. This room was still to be let, when, on a winter's evening several years ago, M. Hyacinthe, after putting on his nightcap, and settling himself comfortably by the fireside, opened his newspaper, in order to read the continuation of some fearful tale which it contained; for, like most timid individuals, he delighted in the sad and the horrible. He had not read a line, however, when he was disturbed by a knock at the door. His first thought was of thieves; then it occurred to him that the knock, which was now repeated, might proceed from a visitor. It was not until a third impatient knock was heard that M. Hyacinthe suddenly recollected that the individual at the door might be a future lodger. No sooner had this thought impressed itself on his mind, than, snatching up a light, and entirely forgetting his nightcap, he precipitately rushed to open the door. A pale, slender, fair-haired young man, about twenty, but whose manners were very cool and self-possessed, was standing on the dark landing. He was showily dressed, and smelt very strongly of Eau de Cologne; the thumb of his left hand was placed in the corresponding waistcoat pocket; in the other hand he held a small and flexible badine.

'Well, sir,' said he, frowning on M. Hyacinthe, as much as his very smooth forehead and eyebrows would allow him to frown, do you know that I have knocked five times at your door?'

I protest, sir,' stammered forth M. Hyacinthe, 'I only heard three knocks.'

on the table, bade M. Hyacinthe pay himself for the first month's rent, and keep the change until another month was up. Without giving M. Hyacinthe time to remonstrate, he proceeded to inform him that he could apply to Madame Sébillard, his present landlady, for references, but that, as he hated hypocrisy, he would give him his character himself; and in order to do this with due comfort, he composedly sat down on the bed.

real name? That is of no consequence. My father is 'My name,' he began, 'is Henri Renaudin. Is it my rich: I might live in his hotel if I liked; but there is a stepmother in the way, and I wish to be free. Still you will say-Why come to a poor place like this? I have private reasons for doing so; but to satisfy you, we will say a whim brought me hither, or rather let it be the wish of studying human nature in all its infinite variety; and as though pleased with this euphonious sentence, M. Renaudin repeated it several times in a complacent tone.

M. Hyacinthe here wanted to slip in a remark; but the other was too quick for him. I know what you are going to say-Does my father allow me much? No; but I make him pay the same tailor's bills two or three times over: I never pay my tailor myself; it is really too shabby,' added M. Renaudin, with profound con"You need not tempt for the meanness of such an act. speak,' he continued, seeing that M. Hyacinthe was opening his mouth; I know what you are going to say-How do I get money? The easiest thing in the world: I have already spent three fortunes, of which I never touched a sou. My mother's fortune was the first. Oh, no! now I think of it, it was my cousin's five hundred thousand francs that went first. Ah! they are all gone. Then came my mother's propertygone too: and my old uncle's fortune is going now. He is still alive, but he has made a will in my favour, so that I live on my future expectations. You seem astonished: it is very easy: I can put you in the way: borrow money at the rate of two or three hundred per cent., spend it, give parties, and so forth; you will find that a moderate fortune does not last much more than a year. But you look economical: well, then, let us say eighteen months, if you wish to see old Isaac.'

Thank you, sir,' precipitately interrupted M. IIyacinthe: 'you were speaking about your character?'

Then, sir,' sternly observed the stranger, it was exceedingly impertinent in you not to open sooner. You have a room to let-show it to me!'

But M. Hyacinthe, who disliked his authoritative tone, promptly replied that the room was no longer to be let.

M. Hyacinthe protested, but the stranger was peremptory; and as it was one of his, M. Hyacinthe's, maxims, that a wise man ought to submit to anything in order to avoid a present risk, he yielded at length, though not without calling on every one to witness that he was no longer a free agent. As the stranger was the only person who could hear this protest, it was useless; but M. Hyacinthe's conscience was satisfied-he had done everything which a brave and peaceable man could do, and he proceeded to show the furnished room to the stranger, now fully warned of his illegal conduct. The young man cast a careless look around him, observed that the room suited him, and throwing two gold pieces

a cigar;' and as an apt illustration of this happy comparison, M. Renaudin drew a cigar from his cigar-case, and lighting it from the candle held by M. Hyacinthe, began smoking it with great composure.

'Sir,' ejaculated the alarmed M. Hyacinthe, endeavouring to smile, this is only some pleasant joke of yours. Remember the window is very high; you would not have the heart to throw a poor man from a fourth floor?'

But M. Renaudin said he had the heart to do any thing; should feel extremely sorry when it was all over, but could not help it; had therefore thought it best to mention this weakness, as it would be more pleasant to both parties if nothing of the kind occurred. And now,' he added, that everything is explained, I think that, as I feel rather sleepy, you may leave me.'

·

'I cannot allow that,' uneasily exclaimed M. Hyacinthe; I must give notice to the police.'

'I scorn the police,' answered Renaudin with deep contempt.

'Sir, indignantly exclaimed M. Hyacinthe, who was gradually edging towards the door, you fail in the respect due to the constituted authorities: your language is very illegal.'

'I delight in everything illegal,' was Renaudin's profane reply.

Then, sir,' resolutely observed M. Hyacinthe, now on the landing, I shall alarm the house.'

'Do,' answered M. Renaudin: there will be noise, fighting, smashing of window-panes, &c.-things in which I rejoice-another trait in my character. But if you have a bone or two broken in the affray, do not say you received no warning.'

This was uttered with such suavity of manner, and the speaker had such a fair, meek face, of which the most prominent features were large eyes of a pale blue, a fat nose, and a retreating chin, that he did not seem the most likely individual to carry his threat into execution. But M. Hyacinthe, who never trusted to appearances when his safety was at stake, submitted, though not without a protest, and ended by putting the two Napoleons into his pocket, and leaving M. Renaudin master of the field of battle. Fear was not his only reason for acting thus: being a considerate man, he did not like to disturb a quiet house. Nor was he sorry to let his room to an individual who could afford to throw money out of the window; for though it is very well to discountenance extravagant people, every one knows that it is profitable to deal with them in the long-run. The next morning, however, M. Hyacinthe did not neglect, as soon as his lodger was gone out-for he would not have ventured to leave the house sooner, lest M. Renaudin should carry off something in his absence, though, save an old candlestick and a pair of snuffers, there was nothing portable in the room-to call on his late landlady.

Madame Sébillard gave M. Renaudin an excellent character for steadiness and propriety of conduct; but this only roused the suspicions of M. Hyacinthe, who shrewdly concluded that she wanted to get rid of her late lodger a fact which afforded him another conclusive proof of the universal tendency which every individual had to cheat and deceive him. He resolved, however, to watch his lodger's motions so strictly, as to leave him few opportunities of effecting any mischief. But though his vigilance was most persevering, he could discover nothing reprehensible in the conduct of M. Renaudin. This singular individual went out early in the morning, and came home late at night, occasionally hinting in a dark and mysterious manner at certain deeds of guilt and horror in which he had been engaged during the day; but though M. Hyacinthe's hair 'stood on end to hear him,' as he elegantly expressed it, this was all he could learn, and every one agreed that the information was exceedingly vague. There was, however, a kind of fearful charm in Renaudin's conversation for the peaceful Hyacinthe; for though of course it was very shocking to hear his guest speak with unparalleled and revolting coldness of the innocent hearts he had broken through mere wantonness, and of the foes whom he had laid in mortal combat at his feet-without speaking of all the tailors' bills which he had never paid-every one knows that those are subjects of the most thrilling interest, as any modern romance or drama can show. No wonder, therefore, that M. Hyacinthe, being fond of the dark and dismal, was fascinated by the gloomy discourse of Renaudin. And indeed he was not the only person on whom this mysterious individual exercised an influence: every one in the house, from M. Moreau the landlord, who lived on the first floor, to the portress in her lodge, and the little tailor in his garret, declared that there was something very strange about him. M. Moreau, who, having once been a deputy, and voted against the freedom of the press,

thought himself a marked man, asserted that it would be prudent to turn him out of the house at once, as he was probably the spy of a gang of thieves or conspirators, both of which characters were in his opinion identical; Madame Latour called him a libertine and mauvais sujet, and strictly forbade her niece Minna to cast even a look upon him; the old tailor gave a very diffuse opinion, in which there was something about the degeneracy of human nature, and the cut of M. Renaudin's coat, which was not, it seems, at all orthodox. M. Hyacinthe, who knew most on the subject, said least; for,' as he sententiously observed, 'walls had ears.' Occasionally, however, he ventured to observe that there was something fatal about his lodger's look-that he was, like Napoleon, a child of destiny, &c.-with which observations every one agreed, as being remarkably applicable to M. Renaudin.

But such, however, was the exemplary conduct of this strange individual, so regularly did he pay his rent, and so nearly did he, upon the whole, behave like other people, that every one began to think him a commonplace fellow, and some persons went so far as to complain that they had been taken in. But events showed that their murmurs had been premature, and Renaudin soon let them see what he could do. First, however, it should be known that Madame Latour's niece Minna was greatly dissatisfied with her lot, which was indeed none of the most enviable. From the unlimited freedom of a country life, she had been transplanted to the gloom and confinement of her aunt's lodge; for Madame Latour, not being able to go out with her niece, had prudently determined that she should remain at home. Minna soon grew pale and melancholy; and her wise aunt concluded that she had formed an attachment for some one in the house. But who could be the object of her affections? Was it M. Moreau? M. Hyacinthe? or the old tailor? Impossible! A flash of light crossed Madame Latour's mind-it was Renaudin! True, she had no proof of this; but suspicion is a powerful magnifying-glass, and it enabled her to read looks, and understand the meaning of certain words otherwise unintelligible. When she discovered, therefore, one fine morning, that her ungrateful niece had run away from her, she could have no doubt that it was with the artful Renaudin, on whom she immediately vowed to be revenged, should he presume to show his face again in the house, which every one declared to be extremely unlikely.

But Renaudin proved that he was capable of anything, for he came home at his usual hour. Madame Latour began the attack by asking him politely—and her politeness being very uncommon, always foreboded some deep insult-what he had done with her niece Minna? M. Renaudin looked surprised, and protested he knew nothing about her; upon which the portress sharply asked him if he thought she was blind, and had not observed the looks her niece cast upon him? M. Renaudin did not deny that the young lady might entertain a tender feeling for him, but asserted that he had never given her the least encouragement. This presumption greatly incensed Madame Latour, who immediately asked M. Renaudin what he meant by it, and without giving him time to reply, overwhelmed him with abuse. It was in vain that he opened his lips to answer her invectives by a word of self-defence; for every time that the portress paused in her speech, being out of breath-which was not often-the lodgers, who had gathered around her, took up the strain, and declared that M. Renaudin ought to be ashamed of himself to speak so of a poor girl who had given up everything for him!' But Renaudin was indeed Renaudin the obdurate; for he refused to confess his guilt, and contemptuously termed the fair Minna a provinciale. Madanie Latour being now exhausted, became hysterical; and declared that her darling Minna being gone, she had nothing to live for. She partly revived, however, when her friends bade her rouse herself for the sake of her lodgers; and she even exerted herself so much, as to

promise M. Renaudin, who was now going up to his room, that she would soon be revenged upon him.

And faithfully, indeed, did she keep her word. During a whole week, her foe could neither leave nor enter the house without hearing himself reproached by Madame Latour with the abduction of her niece. But hatred has quick instincts; and the portress soon perceived that the graceless Renaudin was rather flattered at being thus reminded of the impression he had produced on the too-susceptible heart of the fair Minna: she accordingly sought for a surer method of inflicting a wound, and soon found a very effectual one, which she practised thrice with great success. This was to sleep so soundly at night, that she never heard her enemy's knock at the door, and that consequently M. Renaudin had to spend the night in the open air, which, as the portress managed to be particularly drowsy in rainy weather, was not always very pleasant. Of course when he came in in the morning, M. Renaudin raved at Madame Latour in an awful manner, and uttered such fearful threats of vengeance, that the alarmed M. Hyacinthe assured her the whole affair would end in something dreadful. But the portress was a dauntless woman; she continued to brave the anger of her foe in the most fearless manner, and seemingly without suffering in consequence.

Punishment, indeed, seemed in this case to fall on the head of the guilty individual; for such was the persecution M. Renaudin sustained on the subject of Minna, that the unhappy gentleman declared, in a tone of despair, he would leave the house unless it ceased. From morning till night, indeed, he heard of nothing but Minna. The female lodgers looked upon him with evident horror; the men remonstrated with him; and even the timid M. Hyacinthe used the most persuasive arguments in order to induce him to give up Minna. 'Sir!' exclaimed M. Renaudin, rolling his blue eyes in a portentous manner, if I hear the name of Minna again, I shall do something desperate!'

As it did not escape M. Hyacinthe that his lodger, whilst speaking thus, grasped a small pocket-pistol | which was lying on the table, he hastened to retreat; but when he had left the room, he said in a loud tone, though perhaps not quite loud enough to be heard, 'Hard-hearted wretch!'

But the circumstance of the pistol, which he had never seen before, nevertheless dwelt in his mind. What did his lodger want it for? A duel or a suicide? M. Hyacinthe inclined rather towards the latter supposi

tion. It seemed exceedingly likely that something fatal had befallen the unhappy Minna, and in such a case it was only natural that the guilty Renaudin's mind should be burdened with remorse; and every one knows that, in such dark and mysterious characters, remorse leads to the most dreadful extremities. The more he thought on the subject, the more M. Hyacinthe | became convinced that it was his lodger's intention to commit some rash act; and remembering, with the most disinterested humanity, that he owed him nearly two months' rent, he resolved to save him in spite of himself. He immediately communicated his suspicions to the portress and M. Moreau, who both appeared much startled on hearing of the pistol. The landlord especially seemed thrown into an unusual state of agitation. He treated the idea of a suicide with mysterious contempt, and darkly asked M. Hyacinthe if he had never heard of such things as political assassination, and pistol-shots being fired at marked men? After which he made some unintelligible allusion to a warning letter, but ended by declaring that the pistol should be secured by all means; and that, in order to prevent him from committing mischief, Renaudin should be locked up in his room. But who was to beard the lion in his den? The portress and M. Moreau agreed that M. Hyacinthe was the most fit person to be intrusted with such a task. This worthy individual, however, who entertained a most considerate regard for his personal safety, declared it would be as much as his life was

worth to undertake such an office, as he knew Renaudin would fight like a tiger; but he hinted something about M. Moreau's great moral courage, and Madame Latour being safe on account of her sex; upon which the landlord eyed him askance, muttering something about hidden accomplices, whilst the portress sharply asked if M. Hyacinthe wanted to get rid of her that way?' It was at length agreed that the deed should be effected by cunning. At dead of night, therefore, when every one in the house was safely in bed, and fast asleep, Madame Latour raised up an alarm of fire in most unearthly accents. The lodgers, being all warned, took no notice of the fact, with the exception of the luckless Renaudin, who flew out of his room, and rushed down stairs as pale and breathless as though it would not have been as sure a method of committing suicide to remain in bed whilst the house was on fire, as any other which he might adopt. M. Hyacinthe, who was lying in ambush on the landing, immediately darted into the room, pounced upon the pistol, which was still lying on the table, caught up a box of razors, and hurried off with his spoil to his own apartment. On discovering that the alarm was a false one, M. Renaudin, who only saw in this another method taken by his enemy the portress to annoy him, gave her a ferocious look, and walked up to his room. His ill-humour was too great to enable him to perceive his loss, and it lucklessly made him neglect to lock his door.

But the next morning M. Renaudin missed his razors, then his pistol, and ended by discovering that he was locked up. His cries soon brought M. Hyacinthe to his door. The worthy gentleman then explained to his lodger through the keyhole that he was to remain a prisoner until he could prove that he no longer entertained hostile designs against his own person, and might be trusted with a debt. He added, however, that if M. Renaudin would solemnly promise not to throw himself into the Seine, nor to leap down from the towers of Notre Dame, nor to destroy himself in any manner whatsoever; and if he would pay down to him, M. Hyacinthe, the two months' rent which he owed him, and another month's rent to which he was entitled, not having received warning, he would see what he could do in order to free him from his bondage in two or three days' time. These conditions were, however, indignantly rejected by M. Renaudin, who vowed that he would have justice if there was law in the land, and appealed to the police for protection. But M. Hyacinthe reminded him that, as he delighted in everything illegal, and scorned the police, he had no right to complain; and thus ended the conference.

After walking about his room for some time in a state of great indignation, M. Renaudin gradually cooled down, and requested to speak to M. Hyacinthe and M. Moreau. When they were both on the landing, he again demanded an explanation of their conduct. M. Hyacinthe replied by saying that a pistol had been found in his room, and by hinting something about the unhappy Minna.

'Minna again!' groaned the captive in a tone of despair; adding with reckless calmness, 'How long do you mean to keep me a prisoner, and when will you give me anything to eat?'

M. Hyacinthe pretended not to hear this last question; and after a good deal of hesitation, M. Moreau said something about feeding one's enemies, and promised to send up M. Renaudin his breakfast. This meal, however, only consisted of a cup of cold coffee, with a very scanty supply of bread; but such as it was, M. Moreau took the precaution of not delivering it to the captive without previously exacting from him a solemn promise of not attempting to escape for the whole of that day. M. Renaudin, who was hungry, would have promised anything, and readily complied with this condition; the more so, as M. Moreau artfully gave him to understand that he was going to get a déjeûner à la fourchette. When he saw the deceit which had been practised upon him, he gave vent to his irri