Now you know the gentleman who lived directly opposite Georgette, and whose windows, being on the first floor, enabled him to look directly into the apartments in the entresol opposite; which entresol was occupied by the pretty shirtmaker, who, as we have already had the privilege of informing you, often left her windows open to enjoy the balmy spring air, and perhaps also to allow her neighbors to see her. When a woman is pretty, she does not hide herself, unless she is under the sway of a jealous tyrant. And even then she finds a way to let some portion of her person be seen, which may kindle a desire to see the rest. Monsieur de Mardeille condescended occasionally to sit at a window in his dining-room, which looked on the courtyard; and there, in a stylish négligé, enveloped in a handsome dressing-gown, of velvet or dimity according to the season, his head covered with a dainty cap, the tassel of which fell gracefully over his right ear, and from beneath which escaped some stray brown locks, which were sternly forbidden to turn gray, my gentleman would bestow a glance or two on those of his neighbors who were worth the trouble of looking at. But thus far he had discovered nobody in the house who deserved to be scrutinized for more than an instant. When Georgette moved in, Monsieur de Mardeille's valet lost no time in informing his master that he had a new neighbor opposite, and added: "I thought she seemed to be very good-looking." "Ah! she seemed to you to be good-looking?" replied the old dandy, with a smile. "What sort of woman is this new tenant?" "She's an unmarried woman, so it seems, monsieur, and she makes men's shirts." "A shirtmaker! What! do you presume to praise a shirtmaker to me, Frontin?" Monsieur de Mardeille had insisted that his valet should consent to be called Frontin, although his real name was Eustache; for the name Frontin, which used to be employed in all comic operas, reminded our elegant seducer of a multitude of interesting and diverting love intrigues, wherein Frontin's master was always triumphant; and it was probably with a view to reproducing in actual life those scenes of the stage that Monsieur de Mardeille had dubbed his servant Frontin. If he had dared, he would have called him Figaro; but he himself was beginning to be a little mature to play Almaviva. Frontin, a great clown who deemed himself very shrewd, smiled as he answered: "Faith! monsieur, I thought that a pretty girl was a pretty girl, even if she was a shirtmaker!"