Here is my day.

In the morning the boots comes to call me.

He announces the number of deaths which have taken place in the hotel during the night.
If there are many he is pleased, as he considers it creditable to the establishment.

He then relieves his feelings by shaking his fist in the direction of Versailles, and exit growling "Canaille de Bismarck." I get up.

I have breakfast--horse, _cafe au lait_--the _lait_ chalk and water--the portion of horse about two square inches of the noble quadruped.