“Le Chambertin rend joyeux,
     Le Nuits rend infatigable,
     Le Volnay rend amoureux,
     Le Champagne rend amiable. 
     Grisons-nous, mes chers amis,
     L’ivresse
     Vaut la richesse;
     Pour moi, des que le suis gris,
     Je possede tout Paris!”

“Oh hush!” said I, uneasily; “not so loud, pray!”

“Why not?”

“The—­the neighbors, you know.  We cannot do as we would in the Quartier Latin.”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow.  You don’t swear yourself to silence when you take apartments in a hotel meuble!  You might as well live in a penitentiary!—­

     ’De bouchons faisons un tas,
     Et s’il faut avoir la goutte,
     Au moins que ce ne soit pas
     Pour n’avoir bu qu’une goutte!’”

“Nay, I implore you!” I interposed again.  “The landlord ...”

“Hang the landlord!

     ‘Grisons-nous—­’”

“Well, but—­but there is a lady in the next room ...”

Mueller laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.

“Allons done!” said he, “why not have told the truth at first?  Oh, you sly rogue!  You gaillard!  This is your seclusion, is it?  This is your love of learning—­this the secret of your researches into science and art!  What art, pray?  Ovid’s ‘Art of Love,’ I’ll be sworn!”

“Laugh on, pray,” I said, feeling my face and my temper growing hot; “but that lady, who is a stranger to me"....

“Oh—­oh—­oh!” cried Mueller.

“Who is a stranger to me,” I repeated, “and who passes her evenings in study, must not be annoyed by noises in my room.  Surely, my dear fellow, you know me well enough to understand whether I am in jest or in earnest.”

Mueller laid his hand upon my sleeve.

“Enough—­enough,” he said, smiling good-naturedly.  “You are right, and I will be as dumb as Plato.  What is the lady’s name.”

“Dufresnoy,” I answered, somewhat reluctantly.  “Mademoiselle Dufresnoy.”

“Ay, but her Christian name!”

“Her Christian name,” I faltered, more reluctant still.  “I—­I—­”

“Don’t say you don’t know,” said Mueller, maliciously.  “It isn’t worth while.  After all, what does it matter?  Here’s to her health, all the same—­a votre sante, Mademoiselle Dufresnoy!  What! not drink her health, though I have filled your glass on purpose?”

There was no help for it, so I took the glass and drank the toast with the best grace I could.

“And now, tell me,” continued my companion, drawing nearer to the fire and settling himself with a confidential air that was peculiarly provoking, “what is she like?  Young or old?  Dark or fair?  Plain or pretty?”

“Old,” said I, desperately.  “Old and ugly.  Fifty at the least.  Squints horribly.”

Then, thinking that I had been a little too emphatic, I added:—­

“But a very ladylike person, and exceedingly well-informed,”