had shaken the
equilibrium of his positive existence; and yet he now viewed all these
as subordinate to the one image of mild decorous matronage into which
wedlock was to transform the child of genius, longing for angel wings
and unlimited space.

CHAPTER V.

On quitting the sorry apartment of the false M. Lamb, Lebeau walked
on with slow steps and bended head, like a man absorbed in thought.
He threaded a labyrinth of obscure streets, no longer in the Faubourg
Montmartre, and dived at last into one of the few courts which preserve
the cachet of the moyen age untouched by the ruthless spirit of
improvement which during the second empire has so altered the face of
Paris. At the bottom of the court stood a large house, much dilapidated,
but bearing the trace of former grandeur in pilasters and fretwork in
the style of the Renaissance, and a defaced coat of arms, surmounted
with a ducal coronet, over the doorway. The house had the aspect of
desertion: many of the windows were broken; others were jealously closed
with mouldering shutters. The door stood ajar; Lebeau pushed it open,
and the action set in movement a bell within a porter's lodge.
The house, then, was not uninhabited; it retained the dignity of a
concierge. A man with a large grizzled beard cut square, and holding a
journal in his hand, emerged from the lodge, and moved his cap with a
certain bluff and surly reverence on recognizing Lebeau.

"What! so early, citizen?"

"Is it too early?" said Lebeau, glancing at his watch. "So it is; I
was not aware of the time. But I am tired with waiting; let me into
the salon. I will wait for the rest; I shall not be sorry for a little
repose."

"Bon," said the porter, sententiously; "while man reposes men advance."

"A profound truth, citizen Le Roux; though if they advance on a reposing
foe, they have blundering leaders unless they march through unguarded
by-paths and with noiseless tread."

Following the porter up a dingy broad staircase, Lebeau was admitted
into a large room, void of all other furniture than a table, two benches
at its sides, and a fauteuil at its head. On the mantelpiece there was a
huge clock, and some iron sconces were fixed on the panelled walls.

Lebeau flung himself, with a wearied air, into the fauteuil. The porter
looked at him with a kindly expression. He had a liking to Lebeau, whom
he had served in his proper profession of messenger or commissionnaire
before being placed by th