s it seemed, with their backs against the wall,
sat some ten or a dozen men and boys, each with an attendant shoeblack
kneeling before him, brushing away vigorously. Two or three other
customers, standing up in the middle of the shop, like horses in the
hands of the groom, were having their coats brushed instead of their
boots. Of those present, some looked like young shopmen, some were of
the _ouvrier_ class, and one or two looked like respectable small
tradesmen and fathers of families. The younger men were evidently
smartening up for an hour or two at some cheap ball or Cafe-Concert, now
that the warehouse was closed, and the day's work was over.

Our boots being presently brought up to the highest degree of polish,
and our garments cleansed of every disfiguring speck, we paid a few sous
apiece and turned out again into the streets. Happily, we had not far to
go. A short cut brought us into the midst of the Rue de Faubourg St.
Denis, and within a few yards of a gloomy-looking little shop with the
words "_Veuve Marotte_" painted up over the window, and a huge red and
white umbrella dangling over the door. A small boy in a shiny black
apron was at that moment putting up the shutters; the windows of the
front room over the shop were brightly lit from within; and a little old
gentleman in goloshes and a large blue cloak with a curly collar, was
just going in at the private door. We meekly followed him, and hung up
our hats and overcoats, as he did, in the passage.

"After you, Messieurs," said the little old gentleman, skipping politely
back, and flourishing his hand in the direction of the stairs.
"After you!"

We protested vehemently against this arrangement, and fought quite a
skirmish of civilities at the foot of the stairs.

"I am at home here, Messieurs," said the little old gentleman, who, now
that he was divested of hat, cloak, and goloshes, appeared in a flaxen
_toupet_, an antiquated blue coat with brass buttons, a profusely
frilled shirt, and low-cut shoes with silver buckles. "I am an old
friend of the family--a friend of fifty years. I hold myself privileged
to do the honors, Messieurs;--a friend of fifty years may claim to have
his privileges."

With this he smirked, bowed, and backed against the wall, so that we
were obliged to precede him. When we reached the landing, however, he
(being evidently an old gentleman of uncommon politeness and agility)
sprang forward, held open the door for us, and insis