To give his premises the appearance of a cafe, Monsieur Lebigre had placed two small tables of bronzed iron and four chairs against the wall, in front of the counter.  A chandelier with five lights and frosted globes hung down from the ceiling.  On the left was a round gilt timepiece, above a tourniquet[*] fixed to the wall.  Then at the far end came the private “cabinet,” a corner of the shop shut off by a partition glazed with frosted glass of a small square pattern.  In the daytime this little room received a dim light from a window that looked on to the Rue Pirouette; and in the evening, a gas jet burnt over the two tables painted to resemble marble.  It was there that Gavard and his political friends met each evening after dinner.  They looked upon themselves as being quite at home there, and had prevailed on the landlord to reserve the place for them.  When Monsieur Lebigre had closed the door of the glazed partition, they knew themselves to be so safely screened from intrusion that they spoke quite unreservedly of the great “sweep out” which they were fond of discussing.  No unprivileged customer would have dared to enter.

[*] This is a kind of dial turning on a pivot, and usually enclosed in a brass frame, from which radiate a few small handles or spokes.  Round the face of the dial—­usually of paper—­are various numerals, and between the face and its glass covering is a small marble or wooden ball.  The appliance is used in lieu of dice or coins when two or more customers are “tossing” for drinks.  Each in turn sends the dial spinning round, and wins or loses according to the numeral against which the ball rests when the dial stops.  As I can find no English name for the appliance, I have thought it best to describe it.—­Translator.

On the first day that Gavard took Florent off he gave him some particulars of Monsieur Lebigre.  He was a good fellow, he said, who sometimes came to drink his coffee with them; and, as he had said one day that he had fought in ’48, no one felt the least constraint in his presence.  He spoke but little, and seemed rather thick-headed.  As the gentlemen passed him on their way to the private room they grasped his hand in silence across the glasses and bottles.  By his side on the crimson leather seat behind the counter there was generally a fair little woman, whom he had engaged as counter assistant in addition to the white-aproned waiter who attended to the tables and the billiard-room.  The young woman’s name was Rose, and she seemed a very gentle and submissive being.  Gavard, with a wink of his eye, told Florent that he fancied Lebigre had a weakness for her.  It was she, by the way, who waited upon the friends in the private room, coming and going, with her happy, humble air, amidst the stormiest political discussions.

Upon the day on which the poultry dealer took Florent to Lebigre’s to present him to his friends, the only person whom the pair found in the little room when they entered it was a man of some fifty years of age, of a mild and thoughtful appearance.  He wore a rather shabby-looking hat and a long chestnut-coloured overcoat, and sat, with his chin resting on the ivory knob of a thick cane, in front of a glass mug full of beer.  His mouth was so completely concealed by a vigorous growth of beard that his face had a dumb, lipless appearance.