The latter is the old collection, of the time of Cardinal Mazarin, and with that I begin.  It is deposited chiefly on the first floor; in two rooms running at right angles with each other:  the two, about 140 feet long.  These rooms may be considered very lofty; certainly somewhat more elevated than those in the Royal Library.  The gallery is supported by slender columns, of polished oak, with Corinthian capitals.  The general appearance is airy and imposing.  A huge globe, eight feet in diameter, is in the centre of the angle where the two rooms meet.  The students read in either apartment:  and, as usual, the greatest order and silence prevail.  But not a Fust and Schoiffher—­nor a Sweynheym and Pannartz—­nor an Ulric Han—­in this lower region ... although they say the collection contains about 90,000 volumes.  What therefore is to be done?  The attendant sees your misery, and approaches:  “Que desirez vous, Monsieur?” That question was balm to my agitated spirits.  “Are the old and more curious books deposited here?” “Be seated, Sir.  You shall know in an instant.”  Away goes this obliging creature, and pulls a bell by the side of a small door.  In a minute, a gentleman, clothed in black—­the true bibliographical attire—­descends.  The attendant points to me:  we approach each other:  “A la bonne heure—­je suis charme....”  You will readily guess the remainder.  “Donnez vous la peine de monter.”  I followed my guide up a small winding stair-case, and reached the topmost landing place.  A succession of small rooms—­(I think ten in number) lined with the true furniture, strikes my astonished eye, and makes warm my palpitating heart.  “This is charming”—­exclaimed I, to my guide, Monsieur Thiebaut—­“this is as it should be.”  M. Thieubaut bowed graciously.

The floors are all composed of octagonal, deeply-tinted red, tiles:  a little too highly glazed, as usual; but cool, of a good picturesque tint, and perfectly harmonising with the backs of the books.  The first little room which you gain, contains a plaster-bust of the late Abbe HOOKE,[101] who lived sometime in England with the good Cardinal——.  His bust faces another of Palissot.  You turn to the right, and obtain the first foreshortened view of the “ten little chambers” of which I just spoke.  I continued to accompany my guide:  when, reaching the first of the last three rooms, he turned round and bade me remark that these last three rooms were devoted exclusively to “books printed in the Fifteenth Century:  of which they possessed about fifteen hundred.”  This intelligence recruited my spirits; and I began to look around with eagerness.  But alas! although the crop was plentiful, a deadly blight had prevailed.  In other words, there was number without choice:  quantity rather than quality.  Yet I will not be ill-natured; for, on reaching the third of these rooms, and the last in the suite, Monsieur Thiebaut placed before me the following select articles.