One day， about the middle of July 1838， one
of the carriages， then lately introduced to
Paris cabstands， and known as Milords， was driving
down the Rue de lUniversite， conveying a stout man
of middle height in the uniform of a captain of the
National Guard.
Among the Paris crowd， who are supposed to be
so clever， there are some men who fancy themselves
infinitely more attractive in uniform than in their
ordinary clothes， and who attribute to women so
depraved a taste that they believe they will be
favorably impressed by the aspect of a busby and of
military accoutrements.
The countenance of this Captain of the Second
Company beamed with a self-satisfaction that added
splendor to his ruddy and somewhat chubby face. The
halo of glory that a fortune made in business gives to
a retired tradesman sat on his brow， and stamped him
as one of the elect of Paris—at least a retired deputy-
mayor of his quarter of the town. And you may be sure
that the ribbon of the Legion of Honor was not missing
from his breast， gallantly padded a la Prussienne.
Proudly seated in one corner of the milord， this
splendid person let his gaze wander over the passers-
by， who， in Paris， often thus meet an ingratiating smile
meant for sweet eyes that are absent.
The vehicle stopped in the part of the street between
the Rue de Bellechasse and the Rue de Bourgogne，
at the door of a large， newly-build house， standing on
part of the court-yard of an ancient mansion that had
a garden. The old house remained in its original state，
beyond the courtyard curtailed by half its extent.
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