"You must never infer how a Frenchman lives, or where, from his appearance at his café."
They knocked three times, and still there was no answer. Mr. Kennard was about to propose a retreat when M. Gerbert himself opened the door.
"Enter, gentlemen!" They entered somewhat solemnly. When they were in M. Gerbert stood with his back to the door. "You see, gentlemen, this is my little apartment I told you it was a little apartment, did I not?" He had done so, but not how little, nor how bare it was of furniture. The room was a mere cock-loft. It was lighted by a tin lamp which stood upon an old wooden table. This table, a bed in a corner, and a chair or two was practically all the furniture the place contained. It was not only the abode of poverty, it seemed to be the abode of actual destitution. Still standing with his back to the door, M. Gerbert took an obviously wry-mouthed pleasure in openly avowing the fact. "I heard you knock, gentlemen, three times. Why did I not open? Because I was ashamed. I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance now two years. You have known me as a gentleman, as one of yourselves. You may well believe that I felt it difficult when the moment came to prove to you that, after all, I was only a beggar and lived in a loft."
"My dear Gerbert!" stammered Mr. Kennard.
His friend was readier. "My very dear fellow, you don't suppose that you are the only man who has known what it is to be hard up. Why, I myself have slept in a doss-house, and I've been glad to have the fourpence to do it with."
