The Brotherhood of Consolation | Page 9

de
la Chanterie took a little silver whistle from her pocket and blew it. The
serving- woman came.
"Manon, my child, show this gentleman the apartment. Would you, my
dear vicar, be so kind as to accompany him?" she said, addressing the
priest. "If by chance," she added, rising and again looking at Godefroid,
"the apartment suits you, we will talk of the conditions."
Godefroid bowed and went out. He heard the rattle of keys which
Manon took from a drawer, and he saw her light the candle in a large
brass candlestick. Manon went first, without uttering a word. When
Godefroid found himself again on the staircase, winding up two flights,
he doubted the reality of life, he dreamed awake, he saw with his eyes
the fantastic world of romances he had read in his idle hours. Any
Parisian leaving, as he did, the modern quarter, with its luxury of
houses and furniture, the glitter of its restaurants and theatres, the
tumult and movement of the heart of Paris, would have shared his
feeling.
The candle carried by the woman feebly lighted the winding stair,
where spiders swung their draperies gray with dust. Manon wore a
petticoat with heavy plaits of a coarse woollen stuff; the bodice was
square before and square behind, and all her clothes seemed to hang
together. When she reached the second floor, which, it will be
remembered, was actually the third, Manon stopped, turned a key in an

ancient lock, and opened a door painted in a coarse imitation of
mahogany.
"This is it," she said, entering first.
Was it a miser, was it an artist dying in penury, was it a cynic to whom
the world was naught, or some religious soul detached from life, who
had occupied this apartment? That triple question might well be asked
by one who breathed the odor of that poverty, who saw the greasy spots
upon the papers yellow with smoke, the blackened ceilings, the dusty
windows with their casement panes, the discolored floor-bricks, the
wainscots layered with a sort of sticky glaze. A damp chill came from
the chimneys with their mantels of painted stone, surmounted by
mirrors in panels of the style of the seventeenth century. The apartment
was square, like the house, and looked out upon the inner court, which
could not now be seen because of the darkness.
"Who has lived here?" asked Godefroid of the priest.
"A former councillor of the parliament, a great-uncle of madame,
Monsieur de Boisfrelon. After the Revolution he fell into dotage; but he
did not die until 1832, at the age of ninety-six. Madame could not at
first make up her mind to let his rooms to a stranger, but she finds she
cannot afford to lose the rent."
"Madame will have the apartment cleaned and furnished in a manner to
satisfy monsieur," said Manon.
"That will depend on the arrangement you make with her," said the
priest. "You have here a fine parlor, a large sleeping-room and closet,
and those little rooms in the angle will make an excellent study. It is the
same arrangement as in my apartment below, also in the one overhead."
"Yes," said Manon, "Monsieur Alain's apartment is just like this, only
his has a view of the tower."
"I think I had better see the rooms by daylight," said Godefroid,
timidly.
"Perhaps so," said Manon.
The priest and Godefroid went downstairs, leaving the woman to lock
the doors. When they re-entered the salon, Godefroid, who was getting
inured to the surroundings, looked about him while discoursing with
Madame de la Chanterie, and examined the persons and things there
present.
The salon had curtains at its windows of old red damask, with

lambrequins, tied back at the sides with silken cords. The red-tiled floor
showed at the edges of an old tapestry carpet too small to cover the
whole room. The woodwork was painted gray. The plastered ceiling,
divided in two parts by a heavy beam which started from the fireplace,
seemed a concession tardily made to luxury. Armchairs, with their
woodwork painted white, were covered with tapestry. A paltry clock,
between two copper-gilt candlesticks, decorated the mantel-shelf.
Beside Madame de la Chanterie was an ancient table with spindle legs,
on which lay her balls of worsted in a wicker basket. A hydrostatic
lamp lighted the scene. The four men, who were seated there, silent,
immovable, like bronze statues, had evidently stopped their
conversation with Madame de la Chanterie when they heard the
stranger returning. They all had cold, discreet faces, in keeping with the
room, the house, the quarter of the town.
Madame de la Chanterie admitted the justice of Godefroid's
observations; but told him that she did not wish to make any change
until she knew the intentions of her lodger, or