for any intrusive wind, if it did not blow away his treasure. I
fancied I could see him running over the tale of his coin by a feeble
rushlight--squat, perhaps, on the dirty tile-floor--then locking his
box, and placing it carefully under the pillow of his straw pallet,
then tip-toeing to the door to examine again the fastening, then
carefully extinguishing the taper, and after, dropping into an
anxious, fevered sleep.

I even lingered very late at the abbe's room, to see if I could detect
the old man; but there was never any light to be seen.

Perhaps it was the home of some poor gentleman who had seen better
days, and whom necessity obliged to deny himself the poor luxury of a
centime light. Possibly it was a little shopman, as the abbe had
suggested, struggling with fortune--not scrupulous in honesty, and
shunning observation; or it might be (who could tell) a sleek-faced
villain, stealing about in the dusk, and far into the night, making
the dim chamber his home only when more honest lodgers were astir in
the city.

All sorts of conjectures came thronging on me, and I cast my eyes up,
day after day, at the little window, hoping some change of appearance
might give plausibility to some one of my fancies.

Week after week, however, the corridor wore its old quietude; the
striped curtain in the wing window, and the yellow placard in the
suspicious window at the top, still kept their places with provoking
tenacity; and I could never, with all my art, seduce the good-natured
abbe into any bugbear story about the occupant of the dim chamber on
the court.

I dare say I might soon have neglected to look up at all, had I not
observed one day, after my glances had grown very careless, and almost
involuntary, a rich lace veil hanging against the same little window
where had hung the placard. There was no mistaking it--the veil was of
the richest Mechlin lace. I knew very well that no lady of elegance
could occupy such apartment, or, indeed, was to be found (I mean no
disrespect to the abbe) in that quarter of Paris. The window plainly
belonged to some thievish den, and the lace formed a portion of the
spoils. I began to be distrustful of late visits to the abbe's
quarters, and full of the notion of thievish eyes looking out from the
strange window--I used half to tremble as I passed along the corridor.
I told the abbe of the veil, and hinted my suspicions.

"It is nothing," said he, "princes have lived in worse corners.