and curving like an eagle's beak, with its nostrils so curiously expanded and carved out till they exposed a portion of the nasal cartilage, resembled closely a certain Polidori, whose name had been so unceremoniously committed by Murphy, in his conversation with Graün, to regions not mentionable to polite ears. Though Rodolph had not seen Polidori during the last sixteen or seventeen years, he had a thousand reasons for keeping every feature well in his remembrance. The only thing that told against the identity of the individual he believed existed under the disguised name of this quack dentist was the circumstance of his having red hair, while the Polidori of Rodolph's acquaintance had almost black. That Rodolph experienced no wonder (always supposing his conjectures as to the identity correct) at finding a man whose profound learning, rare talent, and vast intelligence he well knew, sunk to such a degradation—it might even be infamy—was because he knew equally well that all these high attainments and noble gifts were allied to such entire perversity, such wild and irregular passions, inclinations so corrupt, and, above all, an affected scorn and contempt for the opinion of the world, which might lead this man, when want and misery overtook him, to seek, from choice, the lowest and least honourable paths of subsistence, and to enjoy a sort of malevolent satisfaction in the idea of him, the talented, the learned, burying all these precious treasures beneath the ignoble calling to which he had devoted his vast powers of mind and body. Still, be it remembered that, spite of the close resemblance between the charlatan surgeon-dentist and the Polidori of bygone years, there still existed discrepancies so great that Rodolph balanced, in deep uncertainty, respecting their proving to be one and the same person.
At length, turning to Pipelet, he inquired:
"How long has this M. Bradamanti been an inmate of this house?"
"About a year, sir, as nearly as I can remember—yes, it is a year; I recollect he took the lodgings in the January quarter. Oh, he is a very regular and exact lodger; he cured me of a desperate attack of rheumatism."
"Madame Pipelet was telling me of the reports which are circulated of him."
"How could she be so foolish?"
"Nay, pray do not fear me! I assure you I may safely be trusted."
"But, really, sir," rejoined Pipelet, "I do not think there is the least dependence to be placed in such reports. I do not believe them, for one. I never can believe them; my modesty would not let me," added M. Pipelet, turning very red, and preceding his new lodger to the floor above.
The more resolved upon clearing up his doubts in proportion to the very great annoyance he felt that the residence of Polidori in the same house would prove to him, and becoming momentarily more disposed to affix a painful solution to the enigma of the piercing cry he had heard from the apartments of the Italian, Rodolph bound himself by a rigid promise to investigate the matter, so as to place it beyond the power of a doubt, and followed the porter to the upper floor, where was situated the chamber he was desirous of engaging.
It was easy to ascertain the abode of his next-door neighbour Mlle. Rigolette. Thanks to the charming gallantry of the painter, Pipelet's mortal foe, the door of her chamber was ornamented after the manner of Watteau, with a panel design representing about half a dozen fat little chubby Loves, grouped round a space painted sky blue, and on which was traced, in pink letters, "Mademoiselle Rigolette, Dressmaker." These plump little Cupids had all a task to perform besides encircling this important announcement. One held the thimble of Mlle. Rigolette upon his tiny finger; another held her scissors; a third was provided with a smoothing-iron for her use; whilst a fourth held up a mirror, as if to tempt the young sempstress to forsake her work for the more gratifying view of her own pretty countenance. The whole was surrounded with a well-chosen wreath of flowers, whose gay colours contrasted agreeably with the sea-green colour of the door; the whole offering a very unfavourable contrast to the mean and shabby-looking staircase. At the risk of opening anew the bleeding wounds of Alfred, Rodolph ventured to observe, while pointing to the door of Mlle. Rigolette:
"This, I suppose, is the work of M. Cabrion?"
"It is; he destroyed the painting of the door by daubing it over with a parcel of fat, indecent children he called his loves. Had it not been for the entreaties of Mlle. Rigolette, and the weakness of M. Bras Rouge, I would have scratched it all off, as well as this palette filled with horrid monsters, with their equally abominable master, whom you can see drawn amongst them. You may know him by his steeple-crowned hat."
And there, sure enough, on the door of the room Rodolph was about to hire, might be seen a palette surrounded by all kinds of odd and whimsical creatures, the witty conceit of which might have done honour to Callot. Rodolph followed the porter into a tolerably good-sized room, accessible by a small entrance-closet, or antechamber, having two windows opening into the Rue du Temple. Some fantastic sketches from the pencil of M. Cabrion, on the second door, had been scrupulously respected by M. Germain. Rodolph saw too many reasons for desiring to obtain this lodging to hesitate further; therefore, modestly placing a couple of francs in the hand of the porter, he said:
"'This, I Suppose, Is the Work of M. Cabrion'" Etching by Mercier, after the drawing by Frank T. Merrill
"This chamber will exactly suit me. Here is a deposit to complete the bargain. To-morrow I will send in my furniture; but let me beg of you not to destroy the merry creatures painted on the palette at the entrance. It is really very droll! Don't you think so?"
"Droll!" groaned poor Pipelet; "not I! Ah, sir, how would you like to dream night after night that you were being hunted by a legion of little ugly devils like these on the door, with Cabrion at their head urging them on, and then fancying you are trying to get away, and cannot? Oh, I have woke all in a perspiration from such dreams hundreds of times since that infamous Cabrion began persecuting me."
"Why, honestly speaking, I cannot say the chase would be a very agreeable one, even though but a dream. However, tell me, have I any need to see M. Bras Rouge—your great man here—about renting this apartment?"
"None whatever, sir. He rarely comes near the place, except when he has any private matters to arrange with Mother Burette. I am the only person to treat with about hiring apartments. I must beg the favour of your name."
"Rodolph."
"Rodolph what?"
"Plain Rodolph, M. Pipelet—nothing more, if you please."
"Just as you please, sir. I did not ask from curiosity. Every man has a right to his own free will, as well as to decide upon the name he chooses to be called."
"What do you think, M. Pipelet, as to the propriety of my going to-morrow, as a new neighbour of Morel's, to inquire whether I can be of any service to them? Since my predecessor, M. Germain, was permitted to assist them according to his means, why should they not accept of what trifling help I can afford?"
"Why, sir, I see no harm in your going to call on the Morels, because it may please the poor things; but I hardly see much good it can do, as they are so shortly to be turned out of the house." Then, as if suddenly struck with a new idea, M. Pipelet exclaimed, winking at Rodolph with what he intended should be a very facetious and penetrating look, "I see, I see—you mean to begin making acquaintance with the lodgers at the top of the house, that you may be able to work your way down to Mlle. Rigolette. Ah, I've found you out, you see—pretty girl—"
"Well, I think you have discovered my intentions, so I will confess at once that I mean to try and be on friendly terms with my agreeable neighbour."
"There
