had the honor to receive under my poor roof. What would you please to have, M, l'Abbé? I am at your service."
The priest gazed on him with a searching gaze—there even seemed a disposition to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the aubergiste; then, remarking in the countenance of the latter no other expression than surprise at receiving no answer, he deemed it as well to terminate this dumb show, and therefore said, speaking with a strong Italian accent:
"You are, I presume, M. Caderousse?"
"Your reverence is quite correct," answered the host, even more surprised at the question than he had been by the silence; "I am Gaspard Caderousse, at your service."
"Gaspard Caderousse!" rejoined the priest. "Yes, that agrees both with the baptismal appellation and surname of the individual I allude to. You formerly lived, I believe, in the Allées de Meilhan, on the fourth floor of a small house situated there?"
"I did."
"Where you followed the business of a tailor?"
"True, till the trade fell off. Then, it is so very hot at Marseilles, that people will end in not wearing clothes at all. But, talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way of refreshment?"
"Yes, let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with your permission, we will resume our conversation where we left off."
"As you please, M, l'Abbé," said Caderousse, who, anxious not to lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one of the few bottles of vin de Cahors still remaining in his possession, hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the apartment they were in, which served both as parlor and kitchen.
Upon his returning, at the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbé seated on a species of stool, leaning his elbow on a table, while Margotin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the traveler having pronounced the unusual command for refreshments, had crept up to him, his long, skinny neck resting on his lap, while his dim eye was fixed on his face.
"Are you quite alone?" inquired the guest, as Caderousse placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass.
"Quite, quite alone," replied the man "or at least all but so, M, l'Abbé; for my poor wife, who is the only person in the house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and unable to render me the least assistance, poor thing!"
"You are married, then?" said the priest, with a species of interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty style of the fittings-up of the apartment.
