He was affable and sad. The people said: “There is a rich man who has not a haughty air. There is a happy man who has not a contented air.”

Some people maintained that he was a mysterious person, and that no one ever entered his chamber, which was a regular anchorite’s cell, furnished with winged hourglasses and enlivened by crossbones and skulls of dead men! This was much talked of, so that one of the elegant and malicious young women of Montreuil-sur-Mer came to him one day, and asked: “Monsieur le Maire, pray show us your chamber. It is said to be a grotto.” He smiled, and introduced them instantly into this “grotto.” They were well punished for their curiosity. The room was very simply furnished in mahogany, which was rather ugly, like all furniture of that sort, and hung with paper worth twelve sous. They could see nothing remarkable about it, except two candlesticks of antique pattern which stood on the chimneypiece and appeared to be silver, “for they were hall-marked,” an observation full of the type of wit of petty towns.