Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/210

next day, and to come as early as noon. The poet accepted, saying to himself, “Good! I am to begin the inquiry, then.”

Next morning, at the hour appointed, he called on Carolus, who did indeed live in a very handsome private house, where he occupied a sufficiently comfortable room. But Rodolphe was surprised to find at that time of day the shutters closed, the curtains drawn, and two lighted candles on the table. He asked Barbemuche the reason.

“Study,” replied the other, “is the child of mystery and silence.”

They sat down and talked. At the end of an hour, Carolus, with infinite oratorial address, brought in a phrase which, despite its humble form, was neither more nor less than a summons made to Rodolphe to hear a little work, the fruit of Barbemuche’s vigils.

The poet saw himself caught. Curious, however, to learn the color of the other’s style, he bowed politely, assured him that he was enchanted, that—

Carolus did not wait for him to finish the sentence. He ran to bolt the door, and then took up a small memorandum-book, the thinness of which brought a smile of satisfaction to the poet’s face.

“Is that the manuscript of your work?” he asked.

“No,” replied Carolus; it is the catalogue of my manuscripts; and I am looking for the one which you will allow me to read to you. Here it is: ‘Don Lopez; or, Fatality. No. 14.’ It’s on the third shelf;” and he proceeded to open a small closet in which Rodolphe perceived, with terror, a great quantity of manuscripts. Carolus took out one of these, shut the closet, and seated himself in front of the poet.

Rodolphe cast a glance at one of the four piles of elephant-paper of which the work was composed. “Come,”