"The humbug," he added regretfully, following the cocked hat with his eyes, "he has taken away his bag." Rodolphe drew the curtains of his bed and tried to retrace the path to his inheritance, but he made a mistake on the road and proudly entered into a dream in which the manager of the Theatre Francais came hat in hand to ask him for a drama for his theater, and in which he, aware of the customary practice, asked for an advance.

But at the very moment when the manager appeared to be willing to comply the sleeper was again half awakened by the entry of a fresh personage, another creature of the 15th.
It was Monsieur Benoit, landlord of the lodging house in which Rodolphe was residing.

Monsieur Benoit was at once the landlord, the bootmaker and the money lender of his lodgers.

On this morning he exhaled a frightful odor of bad brandy and overdue rent.

He carried an empty bag in his hand.
"The deuce," thought Rodolphe, "this is not the manager of the Theater Francais, he would have a white cravat and the bag would be full." "Good morning, Monsieur Rodolphe," said Monsieur Benoit, approaching the bed.
"Monsieur Benoit! Good morning.