He has a small income, which he manages with the skill of a French
economist; appropriating so much for his lodgings, so much for his meals;
so much for his visits to St. Cloud and Versailles, and so much for his
seat at the theater. He has resided in the hotel for years, and always in
the same chamber, which he furnishes at his own expense. The decorations of
the room mark his various ages. There are some gallant pictures which he
hung up in his younger days; with a portrait of a lady of rank, whom he
speaks tenderly of, dressed in the old French taste; and a pretty opera
dancer, pirouetting in a hoop petticoat, who lately died at a good old age.
In a corner of this picture is stuck a prescription for rheumatism, and
below it stands an easy-chair. He has a small parrot at the window, to
amuse him when within doors, and a pug dog to accompany him in his daily
peregrinations. While I am writing he is crossing the court to go out. He
is attired in his best coat, of sky-blue, and is doubtless bound for the
Tuileries.
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