Thanks to the generosity of his children, the dream of his whole life was realized at last.
"When I am rich," the little man used to say in his cheerless rooms in the Marais, "I will have a house of my own, at the gates of Paris, almost in the country, a little garden which I will plant and water myself.

That will be better for my health than all the excitement of the capital." Well, he had his house now, but he did not enjoy himself in it.

It was at Montrouge, on the road that runs around the city.

"A small chalet, with garden," said the advertisement, printed on a placard which gave an almost exact idea of the dimensions of the property.

The papers were new and of rustic design, the paint perfectly fresh; a water-butt planted beside a vine-clad arbor played the part of a pond.