"Il est une rue à Paris,
Où jamais ne passe personne,"—

and the rest came feebly and shrilly from the depths of his kitchen,—

"La nuit tous les chats qui sont gris
Y tiennent leur cour polissonne."

"Oh! oui da!" he cried from his bed. "Yes! and the cats sometimes get arrested, too, hein?"

The door leading to his salon was opened tentatively and a small blonde head and a laughing face appeared.

"Not up yet? For shame, monsieur!"

"What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock, lazybones."

"Ten——"

"Yes. Aren't you hungry?"