ays he learned
Rodolphe's abiding place and called on him there at six in the morning.

Rodolphe was then residing in a lodging house in a deserted street
situated in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and was perched on the fifth
floor because there was not a sixth. When Colline came to his door there
was no key in the lock outside. He knocked for ten minutes without
obtaining any answer from within; the din he made at this early hour
attracted the attention of even the porter, who came to ask him to be
quiet.

"You see very well that the gentleman is asleep," said he.

"That is why I want to wake him up," replied Colline, knocking again.

"He does not want to answer then," replied the porter, placing before
Rodolphe's door a pair of patent leather boots and a pair of lady's
boots that he had just cleaned.

"Wait a bit though," observed Colline, examining the masculine and
feminine foot gear. "New patent leathers! I must have made a mistake; it
cannot be here."

"Yes, by the way," said the porter, "whom do you want?"

"A woman's boots!" continued Colline, speaking to himself, and thinking
of his friends austere manners, "Yes, certainly I must have made a
mistake. This is not Rodolphe's room."

"I beg your pardon, sir, it is."

"You must be making a mistake, my good man."

"What do you mean?"

"Decidedly you must be making a mistake," said Colline, pointing to the
patent leather boots. "What are those?"

"Those are Monsieur Rodolphe's boots. What is there to be wondered at in
that?"

"And these?" asked Colline, pointing to the lady's boots. "Are they
Monsieur Rodolphe's too?"

"Those are his wife's," said the porter.

"His wife's!" exclaimed Colline in a tone of stupefaction. "Ah! The
voluptuary, that is why he will not open the door."

"Well," said the porter, "he is free to do as he likes about that, sir.
If you will leave me your name I will let him know you called."

"No," said Colline. "Now that I know where to find him I will call
again."

And he at once went off to tell the important news to his friends.

Rodolphe's patent leathers were generally considered to be a fable due
to Colline's wealth of imagination, and it was unanimously declared that
his mistress was a paradox.

This paradox was, however, a truism, for that very evening Marcel
received a letter collectively addressed to the whole of the set. It was
as follows:--

"Monsieur and Madame Rodolphe, literati, beg you to favor them with