from comfortable with our new servant. Its
price in London is enormous, arbitrary, and
artificial, and the gas itself gets daily feebly
paler and more full of carbon, in spite of all the
progress of science. It is also still necessary
to discover some means by which, when gas is
burnt in sitting-rooms, the air can be kept
moderately cool and moist.

THE CASE OF LEBRUN.

THE Dame Mazel was a haughty lady, who
lived alone (excepting her retainers) in a large
hotel in the Rue Maçons-Sorbonne, Paris. In
the latter half of the seventeenth century,
women of quality thought they could do
much as they liked, and Madame Mazel,
rich and a widow, did not differ greatly from
the rest of her class. She gave grand
receptions on stated days, with sharp card-playing
and splendid suppers. At other times, her sole
though not her constant companion was the
Abbé Poulard.

At the epoch when these events occurred,
almost every wealthy house reckoned among its
guests— we might say among its parasites— one
or more ecclesiastics of greater or less respectability.
The Dame Mazel harboured an unfrocked
monk. Did the Abbé Poulard act as the
lady's confessor? Or was he bound to her by
dearer ties? All that was known for certain
was, that he took up his quarters in the house as
if it belonged to him, finding fault with the
servants, hard to please in respect to bed and
board, irregular in his habits, and not concealing
his contempt for the rules of the Church on
abstinence days and during Lent. At table he
spoke with authority, discussing the merits of
dishes and their sauces, and worrying the old
cook-maid almost to death. His bedroom was
like a lady's boudoir, full of trinkets, ornaments,
and luxurious furniture. So completely was
this self-indulgent cell to his taste, that, in 1673,
he submitted to excommunication by the Prior
of Cluny rather than quit it.

In spite, however, of his fondness for his
bower, he was not satisfied with that alone. In
order to be thoroughly at liberty, he hired a
room in the neighbourhood, where he frequently
slept. On those occasions he returned to the
hôtel noiselessly, early in the morning, by means
of a master-key with which he could open the
street door at pleasure.

The personage of next importance in the
household was Jacques Lebrun, who, at the age
of sixteen, had entered Madame Mazel's service
as valet-de-chambre. He had now lived with
her nine-and-twenty years, serving her faithfully,
and enjoying her full confidence. Although at
forty-five he was still called the valet-de-chambre,
he had in reality become the maitre d'hôtel,
the steward. It was he who bought everything,
who paid the tradesmen, who gave orders for
repairs and renovations. The cash and the
plate were under his charge, and he locked
them up in a strong-box kept in a secret hiding-
place. His long-tried integrity was above all
suspicion; and in those days an old servant
became almost a member of the family. He
was at once a domestic and a friend. He was
set down in Madame Mazel's will for a legacy
of six thousand francs, with the half of the
clothes, and the household linen.

Lebrun was married, and lived happily with
his wife; he brought up his children religiously.
His duties, which were strict and numerous,
did not allow him to have his family in the
house. The Dame Mazel had indeed offered
him apartments in the upper story, where
there was more than accommodation enough
for two such families as his; but on her
reception-days— twice a week— when her
mansion was frequented by fashionable people, it
was also thronged by lackeys waiting for their
masters and mistresses, whose loose style of
conduct and conversation seemed to Lebrun to
be anything but a proper example for his own
young folk. He therefore installed them in a
lodging close by. The establishment consisted,
besides Lebrun, of two housemaids, a cook, a
coachman, and two little lackeys.

Madame Mazel's hôtel was four stories high.
You reached the first floor by the grand staircase,
passing through a room which served as a
pantry, and containing a closet in which the
table service was locked up. One of the
housemaids kept the key. In this room, on the side
next the street, a portion had been partitioned
off, where Lebrun slept when he did not pass
the night at home. The rest of this story
consisted of a suite of state apartments in
which madame received company when she
gave her card and supper parties. Her
bedroom was on the second floor, looking into the
court. It was reached by two ante-chambers,
one of which, opening on the grand staircase,
was always left open; the other was fastened
when the lady had retired to rest. She was
the only person who slept on this story of the
house. Two doors led out of her bedroom;
one opened on a little back staircase, the other
led to a wardrobe which also had an outlet on
the same little staircase. The first of these
doors was at the side of the bed next the
wall, and Madame Mazel could open it without
rising. At the head of the bed, hung
a couple of bell-pulls, corresponding to the
chambers of the two housemaids. In the
wardrobe was a closet, the key of which was laid
on Madame Mazel's bolster; and in this closet
was the key of the strong-box.

The third story of the hotel was completely
untenanted, except the chamber occupied by
the Abbé Poulard, which was situated over the
wardrobe. It was entered by the back staircase,
which led to the door at Madame Mazel's
bedside. On the fourth story, the two femmes-
de-chambre and the two little lackeys slept.
The cook slept down-stairs in a woodhouse; the
coachman, in a nook under the staircase. The
latter had charge of the great coach door leading
into the street, the key of which hung on
a nail in the kitchen ready for use by any of