s a fashion in barracks and hospitals.
　　However, in their latter years, Madame Magloire discovered beneath the paper which had been washed over, paintings, ornamenting the apartment of Mademoiselle Baptistine, as we shall see further on. Before becoming a hospital, this house had been the ancient parliament house of the Bourgeois.
　　Hence this decoration. The chambers were paved in red bricks, which were washed every week, with straw mats in front of all the beds.
　　Altogether, this dwelling, which was attended to by the two women, was exquisitely clean from top to bottom.
　　This was the sole luxury which the Bishop permitted. He said, "That takes nothing from the poor."
　　It must be confessed, however, that he still retained from his former possessions six silver knives and forks and a soup-ladle, which Madame Magloire contemplated every day with delight, as they glistened splendidly upon the coarse linen cloth. And since we are now painting the Bishop of D---- as he was in reality, we must add that he had said more than once, "I find it difficult to renounce eating from silver dishes."
　　To this silverware must be added two large candlesticks of massive silver, which he had inherited from a great-aunt. These candlesticks held two wax candles, and usually figured on the Bishop's chimney-piece. When he had any one to dinner, Madame Magloire lighted the two candles and set the candlesticks on the table.
　　In the Bishop's own chamber, at the head of his bed, there was a small cupboard, in which Madame Magloire locked up the six silver knives and forks and the big spoon every night. But it is necessary to add, that the key was never removed.
　　The garden, which had been rather spoiled by the ugly buildings which we have mentioned, was composed of four alleys in cross-form, radiating from a tank.
　　Another walk made the circuit of the garden, and skirted the white wall which enclosed it.
　　These alleys left behind them four square plots rimmed with box.
　　In three of these, Madame Magloire cultivated vegetables; in the fourth, the Bishop had planted some flowers; here and there stood a few fruit-trees. Madame Magloire had once remarked, with a sort of gentle malice: "Monseigneur, you who turn everything to account, have, nevertheless, one useless plot.
　　It would be better to grow salads there than bouquets." "Madame Magloire," retorted the Bishop, "you are mistaken. The beautiful is as useful as the useful."
　　He added after a pause, "More so, perhaps."
　　This plot, consisting of three or four beds, occupied the Bishop almost as much as did his books.
　　He liked to pass an hour or two there, trimming, hoeing, and making holes here and there in the earth, into which he dropped seeds.
　　He was not as hostile to insects as a gardener could have wished to see him.
　　Moreover, he made no pretensions to botany; he ignored groups and consistency; he made not the slightest effort to decide between Tournefort and the natural method; he took part neither with the buds against the cotyledons, nor with Jussieu against Linnaeus.
　　He did not study plants; he loved flowers. He respected learned men greatly; he respected the ignorant still more; and, without ever failing in these two respects, he watered his flower-beds every summer evening with a tin watering-pot painted green.．本．作．品．由．．網．友．整．理．上．傳．
　　The house had not a single door which could be locked.
　　The door of the dining-room, which, as we have said, opened directly on the cathedral square, had formerly been ornamented with locks and bolts like the door of a prison.
　　The Bishop had had all this ironwork removed, and this door was never fastened, either by night or by day, with anything except the latch.
　　All that the first passerby had to do at any hour, was to give it a push.
　　At first, the two women had been very much tried by this door, which was never fastened, but Monsieur de D---- had said to them, "Have bolts put on your rooms, if that will please you."
　　They had ended b