THE TAVERN OF NOAH'S WELL.
This man attired in a jerkin, whom we have seen traversing with long and rapid strides the Salle des Pas-Perdus; whom we have heard, during the expedition of the architect Giraud, General Hanriot, and Richard, conversing with the turnkey left to guard the subterranean passage; this fierce patriot, who had introduced himself to Simon as having carried the head of the Princess de Lamballe,—found himself, on the next evening, about seven o'clock, at the tavern of Noah's Well, situated, as we have said, at the corner of the Rue de la Vieille Draperie.
He was seated at the end of a dirty room, redolent of tobacco and candles, pretending to devour a plate of fish swimming in melted butter.
The room where he supped was nearly deserted; two or three habitués of the house alone remained after the rest, enjoying the privilege to which their daily visit to the establishment entitled them.
The tables were for the most part empty; but we ought to remark, in honor to the tavern of Noah's Well, that the stained tablecloths denoted the departure of a satisfactory number of satisfied guests.
The last three successively disappeared, and at about a quarter to eight our patriot found himself alone. Then, with true aristocratic disgust, he pushed away the greasy plate, which an instant before he had appeared to think so delicious, and drew from his pocket a tablet of Spanish chocolate, which he ate slowly and with a very different expression to that we have seen him endeavor to give to his countenance.
From time to time, while eating his chocolate and black bread, he cast toward a glass door, shaded by a red and white checked curtain, anxious and impatient glances. Sometimes he interrupted his frugal repast to listen; in short, evinced an absence of mind sufficient to induce the mistress of the mansion—seated at her counter, and near the door on which the patriot so eagerly fixed his eyes—to conclude that she might without vanity consider herself the object of his preoccupation.
At length the door-bell sounded in a way that made him start; he drew the plate again before him, and without attracting the woman's observation, threw half the contents to a famished-looking dog, and the remainder to a cat, who treated the dog to some stinging strokes of her velvet paws.
The door opened, and a man entered, dressed almost the same as the patriot, with the exception of the hairy cap, which he had replaced with the red bonnet. An enormous bunch of keys hung from his girdle, from which also depended a sword.