O'Hara followed him; they entered a voiture, and the stranger gave the word, to the Rue des Fossés St. Victor. The street which was called Loustarol in the revolutionary times corresponds with the Rue des Fossés St. Victor of to-day. It lies in the thick network of schools behind the church of St. Etienne du Mont, between the thoroughfares named in honour of the great French mathematician, Déscartes, and the great Swedish naturalist, Linnæus. Its site was formerly occupied by the cloisters of Philippe Auguste, and here stood the convent of Les Dames Anglaises and the Scotch College. Even still there is a scholarly sedateness in the neighbourhood. The house to which they were driven was entered by a long-walled avenue with prison-like wickets at intervals, ending in an open iron gate, which permitted a view of a blooming flower-garden. To the left, just before reaching this gate, was a door painted Pension Bourgeoise, the sort of establishment in Paris which corresponds with our boarding-house. Friezecoat raised the latch and led in his companion.
A narrow courtyard, weakly vines trained along the wall on one side and a range of rooms destined for lodgers on the other, conducted to the Pension, which was a tall, narrow house, surmounted by a belvedere. A few noisy fowls in a preternatural state of activity promenaded the yard; a lazy dog, preternaturally lazy, too lazy even to bark, lay curled in a corner. But the grand feature of the pension was a one-storied wooden house, such as are frequently to be met with in Switzerland, containing two bedrooms underneath and two in the upper floor, which was approached by a staircase from the outside, prolonged into a balcony, which ran in front of the structure under the shelter of the over-hanging eaves. Friezecoat lived in this châlet. As they drew near, the cock, at the van of his plumed seraglio, crowed like a proud French cock; the dog moved his head and gave an indolent growl.
'Let us go aloft,' said Friezecoat, stepping on the staircase.
'I pay for these two rooms on the top, I tenant but one,' continued he; 'I have the staircase to myself, so that I can be isolated when I like.'
'You are comfortably situated,' said O'Hara, glancing round the room into which they had entered, which was a square cleanly-papered bed-chamber plainly furnished. A timepiece ticked on the mantel-shelf under a neat mirror, a secretaire stood between it and the window, which was furnished with persiennes, adding to the general appearance of rusticity. A book-case, over which was disposed a trophy of pistols, foils, and boxing-gloves, and having on either side prints of Protais' celebrated sketches of the Chasseurs de Vincennes at work, Avant l'Attaque and Après le Combat, was fixed against the wall directly opposite the door. A fauteuil, four rush-bottomed chairs, and a commode completed the inventory of the furniture. A screened alcove concealed the bed, and a nook in the same side of the room was cut off by a partition and apportioned to the services of ablution.
'The view is not splendid,' said the stranger, seating himself in the fauteuil and motioning O'Hara to a rush-bottomed chair: 'that wall with the high trellis confines it; outside is the playground of some sort of an institution. I like to hear the buzz of the boys amusing themselves; it brings back my youth; then the green trees, as I see them waving through the lattice, call up the country. Altogether,' with a tone of enthusiasm in his voice, 'I like the shanty; it's a bit of Switzerland in this Paris.'
'You go in for muscularity,' hinted O'Hara, glancing at the trophy of arms.
'I have found it necessary in my career,' replied the stranger quietly. 'Smoke?'
'Yes.'
The stranger brought out a superbly-mounted Turkish pipe from a drawer, and handed it to his visitor. 'Will you try hasheesh?'