"Why, in his room, monsieur."
"What! does he stay at home in the evening? doesn't he ever go out?"
"Very rarely, monsieur."
"Then he is in now?"
"Go up to the sixth floor—the door at the left; you'll find him in."
"What a strange mortal!" thought Dodichet, as he climbed up the stairs; "to stay at home in the evening! To be sure, if he received visits from ladies! But that is not probable."
When he reached the sixth floor, Dodichet tapped on the left-hand door, and a voice called out:
"Come in; the door is unlocked."
Dodichet turned the knob, and found himself in a tiny room with a very sloping roof. A bed without curtains, a large table used as a desk, two chairs and a mirror, were substantially all the furniture the room contained; and yet it seemed well furnished, because shelves were nailed to the wall on all sides, containing, instead of books, small pasteboard boxes, all of uniform size. There were many of them on the table too, but those were empty; and at that moment Lucien was seated at the table, engaged in filling the boxes with long black pins, of which he had an enormous quantity before him. By way of robe de chambre, he wore a long flannel jacket, patched in several places, and on his head was a sort of cap which had lost its visor. The room was but dimly lighted by a small lamp; however, Lucien recognized his visitor at once.
"Halloo, Dodichet!" he cried. "To what chance do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at my quarters? I assure you that I wasn't expecting you!"