measure. He gauged
the man's infatuation, and was very well satisfied to find that the
varnished doors of a tolerably sumptuous future were ready to turn at a
word from Antonia so soon as his own fancy had passed off.

"'And that other one yonder?' asked he, pointing out the stout
fine-looking elderly man with the Cross of the Legion of Honor. 'Who is
he?'

"'A retired custom-house officer.'

"'The cut of his countenance is not reassuring,' said Maxime, beholding
the Sieur Denisart.

"And indeed the old soldier held himself upright as a steeple. His head
was remarkable for the amount of powder and pomatum bestowed upon it; he
looked almost like a postilion at a fancy ball. Underneath that felted
covering, moulded to the top of the wearer's cranium, appeared an
elderly profile, half-official, half-soldierly, with a comical
admixture of arrogance,--altogether something like caricatures of
the _Constitutionnel_. The sometime official finding that age, and
hair-powder, and the conformation of his spine made it impossible to
read a word without spectacles, sat displaying a very creditable expanse
of chest with all the pride of an old man with a mistress. Like old
General Montcornet, that pillar of the Vaudeville, he wore earrings.
Denisart was partial to blue; his roomy trousers and well-worn greatcoat
were both of blue cloth.

"'How long is it since that old fogy came here?' inquired Maxime,
thinking that he saw danger in the spectacles.

"'Oh, from the beginning,' returned Antonia, 'pretty nearly two months
ago now.'

"'Good," said Maxime to himself, 'Cerizet only came to me a month
ago.--Just get him to talk,' he added in Antonia's ear; 'I want to hear
his voice.'

"'Pshaw,' said she, 'that is not so easy. He never says a word to me.'

"'Then why does he come here?' demanded Maxime.

"'For a queer reason,' returned the fair Antonia. 'In the first place,
although he is sixty-nine, he has a fancy; and because he is sixty-nine,
he is as methodical as a clock face. Every day at five o'clock the old
gentleman goes to dine with _her_ in the Rue de la Victoire. (I am sorry
for her.) Then at six o'clock, he comes here, reads steadily at the
papers for four hours, and goes back at ten o'clock. Daddy Croizeau says
that he knows M. Denisart's motives, and approves his conduct; and in
his place, he would do the same. So I know exactly what to expect. If
ever I am Mme. Croizeau, I shall have four hours to myself between s