y, he whispered his most ardent vows in the ear of the _citoyenne_
Hasard, which she received with an air of bewildered stupefaction that
might equally express abject submission or chill indifference. And
Desmahis did not believe she was indifferent to him.

The inn contained only two bedrooms, both on the first floor and opening
on the same landing. That to the left, the better of the two, boasted a
flowered paper and a looking-glass the size of a man's hand, the gilt
frame of which had been blackened by generations of flies since the days
when Louis XIV was a child. In it, under sprigged muslin curtains, stood
two beds with down pillows, coverlets and counterpanes. This room was
reserved for the three _citoyennes_.

When the time came to retire, Desmahis and the _citoyenne_ Hasard, each
holding a bedroom candlestick, wished each other good-night on the
landing. The amorous engraver quickly passed a note to the colourman's
daughter, beseeching her to come to him, when everybody was asleep, in
the garret, which was over the _citoyennes'_ chamber.

With judicious foresight, he had taken care in the course of the day to
study the lie of the land and explore the garret in question, which was
full of strings of onions, apples and pears left there to ripen with a
swarm of wasps crawling over them, chests and old trunks. He had even
noticed an old bed of sacking, decrepit and now disused, as far as he
could see, and a palliasse, all ripped up and jumping with fleas.

Facing the _citoyennes'_ room was another of very modest dimensions
containing three beds, where the men of the party were to sleep, in such
comfort as they might. But Brotteaux, who was a Sybarite, betook himself
to the barn to sleep among the hay. As for Jean Blaise, _he_ had
disappeared. Dubois and Gamelin were soon asleep. Desmahis went to bed;
but no sooner had the silence of night, like a stagnant pool, enveloped
the house, than the engraver got up and climbed the wooden staircase,
which creaked under his bare feet. The door of the garret stood ajar.
From within came a breath of stifling hot air, mingled with the acrid
smell of rotting fruit. On the broken-down bed of sacking lay the girl
Tronche, fast asleep with her mouth open.

* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *

Desmahis returned to his room, where he slept soundly and p