San Francisco Argonaut.

      Early in the morning of a severe winter day, as the concierge of a very high and narrow dwelling in the neighborhood of St. Madeleine's, Paris, was industriously engaged in the pursuance of his business as shoe cobbler, he was disturbed by the sudden violent ringing of the door bell.

      Monsieur Jean Joyeuse angrily threw his neighbor's boot from his lap, rose hastily and opened the door, bringing a tolerably vexed mien to view, which, however, immediately made place to an obeisance, as he saw before him a gentleman of fine presence, who was the possessor of a head of remarkably black hair.

      "There is a room to be let here?" asked the stranger.

      Monsieur Joyeuse assented with another bow. The stranger wished to see the apartment. Jean remarked most politely that he had three rooms to let — one in the first story, another in the second, and still another higher up in the mansard.

      "Then lead me to the mansard room."

      "He will rent the mansard," thought Monsieur Joyeuse, and prepared, in spite of the stranger's elegance, to lose all respect for him, when, by some accidental movement, the overcoat of the black-haired gentleman parted upon his breast, and the landlord spied the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor in the button hole of his frock coat.

      Monsieur Jean was now in one of those situations when one does not know what to say.

      At last he stuttered forth that the attic room was not fitted for such a gentleman.

      The stranger made an impatient gesture, and said, shortly:

      "Prepare the room, and in the course of the fornoon I will move in."

      With those words he drew forth his purse and gave a napoleon as earnest money. Jean then saw him enter an equipage near the church and rattle away.

      Monsieur and Madame Joyeuse had ample leisure in the succeeding hours, which they devoted to the cleansing of the garret room, to give themselves up to the consideration of the question in how far a Knight of the Legion of Honor could maintain his dignity in the eyes of respectable people, after becoming the inhabitant of a mansard room of the worst description.

      "He is a cheat, a swindler, a counterfeiter," decided Joyeuse. But madame, who had been formerly a flower girl, and was of romantic temperament, scented a Don Juan, who had his "designs."

      This delightful dialogue by no means interrupted the work. The spiders were driven away, the dim window panes were polished, and the boards cleanly scrubbed.

      This was hardly accomplished as the mysterious stranger drove up, accompanied by a servant. This latter carried a gloomy looking black casket, resembling a child's coffin in size and form. This was the only baggage the servant carried into the new dwelling. Monsieur Joyeuse gave his wife a significant glance, and whispered aside to her: "A murderer!" Then he asked the servant what the coffin contained. The latter smiled cunningly and answered that he did not know. Monsieur Joyeuse was sure he had guessed aright, and the creature was in understanding with his master. Suspicion, curiosity, and anxiety increased to extremity in the breasts of this worthy pair as the stranger said, abruptly:

      "Monsieur Jean, you are to admit only one gentleman to see me."

      "Very well, sir; but how am I to know him?"

      "By the countersign, 'In the Devil's name!'"

      Monsieur Jean's tongue was paralyzed, and madame's conviction that a Don Juan was before her was considerably shaken.

      The stranger, however, calmly serene, ascended to his chamber.

      The worthy conjugal pair had hardly recovered from their fright when the bell jingled again, and a second stranger appeared, a man of most lowering aspect, with dark glances and still darker bushy eye-brows.

      "Did a gentleman move here to-day?"

      "Yes; but he receives no one."

      "He will receive me. Let me in. I come in the Devil's name!"

      Thereupon the dismal guest vanished likewise. From now on these two — the lodger who did not make this his sleeping place, and the Devil's ambassador — met each morning at a certain hour in Monsieur Jean's house, shut the door of the mansard room behind them, and at 5 o'clock in in the afternoon departed, to meet again in the morning. Monsieur and Madame Joyeuse did their best to discover the clandestine practices of these dangerous men. They listened by turns at the door, but could hear nothing but godless songs, which re-echoed from the mansard walls. Monsieur and Madame Joyeuse endured this for six weeks. One day, when there was a pause in the singing, the portier caught up a few crumbs from the conversation.

      "Courage! courage!" Jean heard one say. He recognized his lodger's voice.

      "But it is so hard to play the Devil!" said the other.

      "Aha! a contract with the Evil One," thought Monsieur Jean, and shuddered.

      "But only consider," began the lodger, "how effective it is especially where you call the dead from their graves — and then the summons to Satan and his host, and the answer from the chorus of assembled devils ———"

      Monsieur Joyeuse had heard enough. The villains should not make his house a den of evil. The police must be informed immediately. The Commissaire heard Monsieur Jean's horrible recital with amazement. He, with two constables, was soon upon the scene.

      "In the name of the King, open!" demanded the Commissaire.

      The door was immediately thrown open.

      "What is your name? Who are you?"

      "Giacomo Meyerbeer."

      "And you?"

      "Lavasseur, first bass of the grand opera."

      The Commissaire at once divined the truth, but he asked what they were practicing.

      "We are studying the role of 'Bertram' in 'Robert the Devil,' a new opera which will soon be produced. In order to be undisturbed I rented this garret room," answered Meyerbeer, smiling.

      "But the coffin! the coffin!" cried Monsieur Joyeuse, still incredulous. The two musicians laughed aloud.

      "A simple violin case," said the composer, gazing with amazement on the looks of poor Jean.

      "You are a blockhead!" said the Commissaire to the disconcerted janitor, and, turning, he begged most humbly to be pardoned his intrusion. Then he withdrew.

      A couple of weeks after, Monsieur and Madame Joyeuse had, through the gift of a couple of tickets, the pleasure of witnessing the first representation of the famous opera.

      As Levasseur, in the necromantic scene, gave vent to the profound depths of his voice, Jean could not refrain from saying to his Lucy: "I maintain it — he is the devil, after all."