onsidering　the　very　ordinary　course　of　my　life；　has　come　to　me　surrounded　by　fantastic　and　romantic　circumstances　which　served　to　be　related　to　you　in　some　detail。
  As　you　have　lived　in　Italy；　I　think　it　useless　to　explain　to　you　the　Cafe　Greco；　the　usual　rendezvous　of　the　pupils　of　the　Academy　and　the　artists　of　all　countries　who　flock　to　Rome。　In　Paris；　rue　de　Coq…　Saint…Honore；　we　have　a　distant　counterpart　of　that　institution　in　a　cafe　long　known　as　that　of　the　Cafe　des　Arts。　Two　or　three　times　a　week　I　spend　an　evening　there；　where　I　meet　several　of　my　contemporaries　in　the　French　Academy　in　Rome。　They　have　introduced　me　to　a　number　of　journalists　and　men　of　letters；　all　of　them　amiable　and　distinguished　men；　with　whom　there　is　both　profit　and　pleasure　in　exchanging　ideas。
  In　a　certain　corner；　where　we　gather；　many　questions　of　a　nature　to　interest　serious　minds　are　debated；　but　the　most　eager　interest；　namely　politics；　takes　the　lead　in　our　discussions。　In　this　little　club　the　prevailing　opinion　is　democratic；　it　is　represented　under　all　its　aspects；　the　phalansterian　Utopia　not　excepted。　That's　enough　to　tell　you　that　before　this　tribunal　the　ways　of　the　government　are　often　judged　with　severity；　and　that　the　utmost　liberty　of　language　reigns　in　our　discussions。　The　consequence　is　that　about　a　year　ago　the　waiter　who　serves　us　habitually　took　me　aside　one　day　to　give　me；　as　he　said；　a　timely　warning。
  〃Monsieur；〃　he　said；　〃you　are　watched　by　the　police；　and　you　would　do　well　not　to　talk　like　Saint　Paul；　open…mouthed。〃
  〃The　police！　my　good　friend；〃　I　replied；　〃why　the　devil　should　the　police　watch　me？　What　I　say；　and　a　good　deal　else；　is　printed　every　morning　in　the　newspapers。〃
  〃No　matter　for　that；　they　/are/　watching　you。　I　have　seen　it。　There　is　a　little　old　man；　who　takes　a　great　deal　of　snuff；　who　is　always　within　hearing　distance　of　you；　when　you　speak　he　seems　to　pay　more　attention　to　your　words　than　to　those　of　the　others；　and　once　I　saw　him　write　something　down　in　a　note…book　in　marks　that　were　not　writing。〃
  〃Well；　the　next　time　he　comes；　point　him　out　to　me。〃
  The　next　time　proved　to　be　the　next　day。　The　person　shown　to　me　was　a　short　man　with　gray　hair；　a　rather　neglected　person　and　a　face　deeply　pitted　with　the　small…pox；　which　seemed　to　make　him　about　fifty　years　of　age。　He　frequently　dipped　in　a　large　snuffbox；　and　seemed　to　be　giving　to　my　remarks　an　attention　I　might　consider　either　flattering　or　inquisitive；　as　I　pleased；　but　a　certain　air　of　gentleness　and　integrity　in　this　supposed　police…spy　inclined　me　to　the　kinder　interpretation。　I　said　so　to　the　waiter；　who　had　plumed　himself　on　discovering　a　spy。
  〃/Parbleu/！〃　he　replied；　〃they　always　put　on　that　honeyed　manner　to　hide　their　game。〃
  Two　days　later；　on　a　Sunday；　at　the　hour　of　vespers；　in　one　of　my　rambles　about　old　Parisfor　which；　as　you　know；　I　always　had　a　taste　I　happened　to　enter　the　church　of　Saint…Louis…en…l'Ile；　the　parish　church　of　the　remote　quarter　of　the　city　which　bears　that　name。　This　church　is　a　building　of　very　little　interest；　no　matter　what　historians　and　certain　〃Guides　to　Paris〃　may　say。　I　should　therefore　have　passed　rapidly　through　it　if　the　remarkable　talent　of　the　organist　who　was　performing　part　of　the　service　had　not　induced　me　to　remain。
  To　say　that　the　playing　of　that　man　realized　my　ideal　is　giving　it　high　praise；　for　I　dare　say　you　will　remember　that　I　always　distinguished　between　organ…players　and　organists；　a　superior　order　of　nobility　the　title　of　which　is　not　to　be　given　unwittingly。
  The　service　over；　I　had　a　curiosity　to　see　the　face　of　so　eminent　an　artist　buried　in　that　out…of…the…way　place。　Accordingly　I　posted　myself　near　the　door　of　the　organ　loft；　to　see　him　as　he　left　the　churcha　thing　I　certainly　would　not　have　done　for　a　crowned　head；　but　great　artists；　after　all；　are　they　not　kings　by　divine　right？
  Imagine　my　amazement　when；　after　waiting　a　few　minutes；　instead　of　seeing　a　totally　unknown　face　I　saw　that　of　a　man　in　whom　I　recognized　my　listener　at　the　Cafe　des　Arts。　But　that　is　not　all：　behind　him　came　the　semblance　of　a　human　being　in　whose　crooked　legs　and　bushy　tangled　hair　I　recognized　by　old　tri…monthly　providence；　my　banker；　my　/money…　bringer/；in　a　word　my　worthy　friend；　the　mysterious　dwarf。
  I　did　not　escape；　myself；　his　vigilant　eye；　and　I　saw　him　point　me　out　to　the　organist　with　an　eager　gesture。　The　latter　turned　hastily　to　look　at　me　and　then；　without　further　demonstration；　continued　his　way。　Meanwhile　the　bandy…legged　creature　went　up　familiarly　to　the　giver　of　holy…water　and　offered　him　a　pinch　of　snuff；　then　without　paying　any　further　attention　to　me；　he　limped　to　a　low　door　at　the　side　of　the　church　and　disappeared。　The　evident　pains　this　deformed　being　had　taken　to　fix　the　organist's　attention　upon　me　seemed　to　me　a　revelation。　Evidently；　the　/maestro/　knew　of　the　singular　manner　by　which　my　quarterly　stipend　had　reached　me；　which　stipend；　I　should　tell　you；　had　been　regularly　continued　until　my　orders　for　work　so　increased　as　to　put　me　beyond　all　necessity。　It　was　not　improbable　therefore　that　this　man；　who　listened　to　me　at　the　Cafe　des　Arts；　was　the　repository　of　other　secrets　relating　to　my　early　life；　and　I　became　most　eager　to　obtain　an　explanation　from　him；　all　the　more　because；　as　I　was　now　living　on　my　own　resources；　my　curiosity　could　not　be　punished；　as　formerly　threatened；　by　the　withdrawal　of　my　subsidy。
  Making　my　decision　quickly；　I　followed　the　organist　at　once；　but　by　the　time　I　reached　the　door　of　the　church　he　was　out　of　sight。　However；　my　luck　prompted　me　to　follow　the　direction　he　had　taken；　and　as　I　reached　the　quai　de　Bethune　I　saw　him　to　my　great　joy　rapping　at　the　door　of　a　house。　Entering　resolutely　after　him；　I　asked　the　porter　for　the　organist　of　Saint…Louis…de…l'Ile。
  〃Monsieur　Jacques　Bricheteau？〃
  〃Yes；　Monsieur　Jacques　Bricheteau；　he　lives　here　I　believe。〃
  〃Fourth　floor　above　the　entresol；　door　to　the　left。　He　has　just　come　in；　and　you　can　overtake　him　on　the　stairs。〃
  Rapidly　as　I　ran　up；　my　man　had　the　key　of　his　door　already　in　the　lock　when　I　reached　him。
  〃Have　I　the　honor　of　speaking　to　Monsieur　Jacques　Bricheteau？〃　I　asked。
  〃Don't　know　any　such　person；〃　he　replied　with　effrontery；　unlocking　his　door。
  〃Perhaps　I　pronounce　the　name　incorrectly；　I　mean　the　organist　of　Saint…Louis…de…l'Ile。〃
  〃I　have　never　heard　of　any　organist　in　this　house。〃
  〃Pardon　me；　monsieur；　there　is　one；　for　the　concierge　has　just　told　me　so。　Besides　I　saw　you　leave　the　organ　loft　of　that　church　followed　by　an　individual　who〃
  Before　I　could　finish　my　sentence　this　singular　individual　cut　short　our　interview　by　entering　his　apartment　and　locking　the　door　behind　him。　For　a　moment　I　thought　that　I　must　have　been　mistaken；　but　on　reflection　I　saw　that　a　mistake　was　impossible。　I　had　to　do　with　a　man　who；　for　years；　had　proved　his　unremitting　discretion。　No；　he　was　obstinately　bent　on　avoiding　me；　I　was　not　mistaken　in　recognizing　him。
  I　then　began　to　pull　the　bell　vigorously；　being　quite　resolved　to　get　some　answer　at　least　to　my　demand。　For　some　little　time　the　besieged　took　the　racket　I　made　patiently；　then；　all　of　a　sudden；　I　noticed　that　the　bell　had　ceased　to　ring。　Evidently；　the　wire　was　disconnected；　the　besieged　was　secure；　unless　I　kicked　in　the　door；　but　that　of　course；　was　not　altogether　the　thing　to　do。
  I　returned　to　the　porter　and；　without　giving　the　reasons　for　my　discomfiture；　I　told　him　about　it。　In　that　way　I　won　his　confidence　and　so　obtained　some　little　information　about　the　impenetrable　Monsieur　Jacques　Bricheteau。　Though　readily　given；　this　information　did　not　enlighten　me　at　all　as　to　the　actual　situation。　Bricheteau　was　said　to　be　a　quiet　lodger；　civil；　but　not　communicative；　though　punctual　in　paying　his　rent；　his　means　seemed　small；　he　kept　no　servant　and　took　his　meals　out　of　the　house。　Going　out　every　morning　before　ten　o'clock；　he　seldom　came　in　before　night；　the　inference　was　that　he　was　either　a　clerk　in　some　office；　or　that　he　gave　music　lessons　in　private　houses。
  One　detail　alone　in　the　midst　of　this　vague　and　useless　information　was　of　interest。　For　the　last　few　months　Monsieur　Jacques　Bricheteau　had　received　a　voluminous　number　of　letters　the　postage　on　which　indicated　that　they　came　from　foreign　parts；　but；　in　spite　of　his　desires；　the　worthy　concierge　had　never；　he　said；　been　able　to　decipher　the　post…mark。　Thus　this　detail；　which　might　have　been　very　useful　to　me　became　for　the　moment　absolutely　worthless。
  I　returned　home；　persuading　myself　that　a　pathetic　letter　addressed　to　the　refractory　Bricheteau　would　induce　him　to　receive　me。　Mingling　with　my　entreaties　the　touch　of　a　threat；　I　let　him　know　that　I　was　firmly　resolved　at　all　costs　to　get　to　the　bottom　of　the　mystery　which　weighed　upon　my　life；　the　secret　of　which　he　evidently　knew。　The　next　morning；　before　nine　o'clock；　I　went　to　his　house；　only　to　learn　that　after　paying　the　rent　to　the　end　of　his　term；　he　had　packed　up　his　furniture　and　left　the　house　in　the　early　morning；　without　the　porter　being　able　to　discover　from　the　men　who　removed　his　property　（well…　paid　to　keep　silence；　no　doubt）　where　they　were　ordered　to　carry　it。