“The devil!” ejaculated our hero, starting to his feet, overturning the
      table at his side, and staring around him in astonishment. “Very true,” calmly replied the voice. “Very true!—what is very true?—how came you here?” vociferated
      the metaphysician, as his eye fell upon something which lay stretched at
      full length upon the bed. “I was saying,” said the intruder, without attending to the
      interrogatives,—“I was saying that I am not at all pushed for time—that
      the business upon which I took the liberty of calling, is of no pressing
      importance—in short, that I can very well wait until you have
      finished your Exposition.”


      “My Exposition!—there now!—how do you know?—how came you
      to understand that I was writing an Exposition?—good God!”


      “Hush!” replied the figure, in a shrill undertone; and, arising quickly
      from the bed, he made a single step toward our hero, while an iron lamp
      that depended over-head swung convulsively back from his approach. The philosopher’s amazement did not prevent a narrow scrutiny of the
      stranger’s dress and appearance. The outlines of his figure, exceedingly
      lean, but much above the common height, were rendered minutely distinct,
      by means of a faded suit of black cloth which fitted tight to the skin,
      but was otherwise cut very much in the style of a century ago. These
      garments had evidently been intended for a much shorter person than their
      present owner. His ankles and wrists were left naked for several inches. In his shoes, however, a pair of very brilliant buckles gave the lie to
      the extreme poverty implied by the other portions of his dress. His head
      was bare, and entirely bald, with the exception of a hinder part, from
      which depended a queue of considerable length. A pair of green spectacles,
      with side glasses, protected his eyes from the influence of the light, and
      at the same time prevented our hero from ascertaining either their color
      or their conformation. About the entire person there was no evidence of a
      shirt, but a white cravat, of filthy appearance, was tied with extreme
      precision around the throat and the ends hanging down formally side by
      side gave (although I dare say unintentionally) the idea of an
      ecclesiastic. Indeed, many other points both in his appearance and
      demeanor might have very well sustained a conception of that nature. Over
      his left ear, he carried, after the fashion of a modern clerk, an
      instrument resembling the stylus of the ancients. In a breast-pocket of
      his coat appeared conspicuously a small black volume fastened with clasps
      of steel. This book, whether accidentally or not, was so turned outwardly
      from the person as to discover the words “Rituel Catholique” in white
      letters upon the back. His entire physiognomy was interestingly saturnine—even
      cadaverously pale. The forehead was lofty, and deeply furrowed with the
      ridges of contemplation. The corners of the mouth were drawn down into an
      expression of the most submissive humility. There was also a clasping of
      the hands, as he stepped toward our hero—a deep sigh—and
      altogether a look of such utter sanctity as could not have failed to be
      unequivocally preposessing. Every shadow of anger faded from the
      countenance of the metaphysician, as, having completed a satisfactory
      survey of his visitor’s person, he shook him cordially by the hand, and
      conducted him to a seat. There would however be a radical error in attributing this instantaneous
      transition of feeling in the philosopher, to any one of those causes which
      might naturally be supposed to have had an influence. Indeed, Pierre
      Bon-Bon, from what I have been able to understand of his disposition, was
      of all men the least likely to be imposed upon by any speciousness of
      exterior deportment. It was impossible that so accurate an observer of men
      and things should have failed to discover, upon the moment, the real
      character of the personage who had thus intruded upon his hospitality. To
      say no more, the conformation of his visitor’s feet was sufficiently
      remarkable—he maintained lightly upon his head an inordinately tall
      hat—there was a tremulous swelling about the hinder part of his
      breeches—and the vibration of his coat tail was a palpable fact. Judge, then, with what feelings of satisfaction our hero found himself
      thrown thus at once into the society of a person for whom he had at all
      times entertained the most unqualified respect. He was, however, too much
      of the diplomatist to let escape him any intimation of his suspicions in
      regard to the true state of affairs. It was not his cue to appear at all
      conscious of the high honor he thus unexpectedly enjoyed; but, by leading
      his guest into the conversation, to elicit some important ethical ideas,
      which might, in obtaining a place in his contemplated publication,
      enlighten the human race, and at the same time immortalize himself—ideas
      which, I should have added, his visitor’s great age, and well-known
      proficiency in the science of morals, might very well have enabled him to
      afford. Actuated by these enlightened views, our hero bade the gentleman sit down,
      while he himself took occasion to throw some fagots upon the fire, and
      place upon the now re-established table some bottles of _Mousseux_. Having
      quickly completed these operations, he drew his chair _vis-à-vis_ to his
      companion’s, and waited until the latter should open the conversation. But
      plans even the most skilfully matured are often thwarted in the outset of
      their application—and the _restaurateur_ found himself _nonplussed_ by
      the very first words of his visitor’s speech. “I see you know me, Bon-Bon,” said he; “ha! ha! ha!—he! he! he!—hi! hi! hi!—ho! ho! ho!—hu! hu! hu!”—and the devil, dropping
      at once the sanctity of his demeanor, opened to its fullest extent a mouth
      from ear to ear, so as to display a set of jagged and fang-like teeth,
      and, throwing back his head, laughed long, loudly, wickedly, and
      uproariously, while the black dog, crouching down upon his haunches,
      joined lustily in the chorus, and the tabby cat, flying off at a tangent,
      stood up on end, and shrieked in the farthest corner of the apartment. Not so the philosopher; he was too much a man of the world either to laugh
      like the dog, or by shrieks to betray the indecorous trepidation of the
      cat.