is bundle, "these are not
hairs, they are shirts, and I am taking them to my washerwoman, who
lives next door to the money changer's twenty steps off."

"That alters the case," said the porter, after he had examined the
contents of the bundle. "Would it be impolite, Monsieur Schaunard, to
inquire your new address?"

"Rue de Rivoli!" replied the artist, and having once got outside the
gate, he made off as fast as possible.

"Rue de Rivoli!" muttered the porter, scratching his nose, "it's very
odd they should have let him lodgings in the Rue de Rivoli, and never
come here to ask about him. Very odd, that. At any rate, he can't carry
off his furniture without paying. If only the new tenant don't come
moving in just as Monsieur Schaunard is moving out! That would make a
nice mess! Well, sure enough," he exclaimed, suddenly putting his head
out of his little window, "here he comes, the new tenant!"

In fact, a young man in a white hat, followed by a porter who did not
seem over-burdened by the weight of his load, had just entered the
court. "Is my room ready?" he demanded of the house-porter, who had
stepped out to meet him.

"Not yet, sir, but it will be in a moment. The person who occupies it
has gone after a cart for his things. Meanwhile, sir, you may put your
furniture in the court."

"I am afraid it's going to rain," replied the young man, chewing a
bouquet of violets which he held in his mouth, "My furniture might be
spoiled. My friend," continued he, turning to the man who was behind
him, with something on a trunk which the porter could not exactly make
out, "put that down and go back to my old lodging to fetch the remaining
valuables."

The man ranged along the wall several frames six or seven feet high,
folded together, and apparently being capable of being extended.

"Look here," said the new-comer to his follower, half opening one of the
screens and showing him a rent in the canvas, "what an accident! You
have cracked my grand Venetian glass. Take more care on your second
trip, especially with my library."

"What does he mean by his Venetian glass?" muttered the porter, walking
up and down with an uneasy air before the frames ranged against the
wall. "I don't see any glass. Some joke, no doubt. I only see a screen.
We shall see, at any rate, what he will bring next trip."

"Is your tenant not going to make room for me soon?" inquired the young
man, "it is half-past twelve, and I want to move in."

"