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Updated: May 1, 2025
Shall I take the house into our confidence?" "The house knows as much of your meaning as I. See here, friend of Bernet, if you are that gentleman's mate, perhaps you have a password about you." "Aye," said M. Étienne, readily. "This is it: twenty pistoles." No answer came immediately; I could guess Peyrot puzzled. Presently he called to us: "By the bones of St.
Would I be out walking the common passage with a child to hush? I was rocking the cradle." "But who does come here to visit M. Bernet?" "I've never seen any one, monsieur. I've never laid eyes on M. Bernet but twice. I keep in my apartment. And besides, we have only been here a week." "I thank you, madame," M. Étienne said, turning to the stairs. She ran out to the rail, babies and all.
My stomach was beginning to remind me that I had given it nothing for twelve hours or so, while I had worked my legs hard. "Does M. Bernet lodge with you?" my master asked of the landlord. We were his only patrons at the moment. "M. Bernet? Him with the eye out?" "The same." "Why, no, monsieur. I don't let lodgings. The building is not mine. I but rent the ground floor for my purposes."
Better see Bernet himself, instead of chattering here all day." "Good advice, and I'll take it," said M. Étienne, lightly setting foot on the stair, muttering to himself as he mounted, "and come back to break your head, mon vieillard." We went up the three flights and along the passage to the door at the back, whereon M. Étienne pounded loudly.
Thank you, monsieur. Au revoir, monsieur." In the doorway of the first house on the left in the little court stood an old man with a wooden leg, sweeping heaps of refuse out of the passage. "It appears that every one on this stair lacks something," M. Étienne murmured to me. "It is the livery of the house. Can you tell me, friend, where I may find M. Bernet?"
The concierge regarded us without cordiality, while by no means ceasing his endeavours to cover our shoes with his sweepings. "Third story back," he said. "Does M. Bernet lodge alone?" "One of him's enough," the old fellow growled, whacking out his dirty broom on the door-post, powdering us with dust.
"But M. Bernet lodges in the house, then?" "No, he doesn't. He lodges round the corner, in the court off the Rue Clichet." "But he comes here often?" "Oh, aye. Every morning for his glass. And most evenings, too." M. Étienne laid down the drink-money, and something more. "Sometimes he has a friend with him, eh?" The man laughed. "No, monsieur; he comes in here alone.
But as you have asked for some of my recollections, I will tell you of a singular adventure that happened to me ten years ago. I was living, as I am now, in Mother Lafon's house, and one of my closest friends, Louis Bernet who has now given up boating, his low shoes and his bare neck, to go into the Supreme Court, was living in the village of C., two leagues further down the river.
But as you have asked for some of my recollections, I will tell you of a singular adventure that happened to me ten years ago. I was living, as I am now, in Mother Lafon's house, and one of my closest friends, Louis Bernet who has now given up boating, his low shoes and his bare neck, to go into the Supreme Court, was living in the village of C., two leagues further down the river.
M. Étienne, coughing, pursued his inquiries: "Ah, I understood he shared his lodgings with a comrade. He has a friend, then, in the building?" "Aye, I suppose so," the old chap grinned, "when monsieur walks in." "But he has another friend besides me, has he not?" M. Étienne persisted. "One who, if he does not live here, comes often to see M. Bernet?" "You seem to know all about it.
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