I was about to leave them when there was a loud noise outside; it was a crash of broken glass, and it seemed to be on the roof near the window of the chamber in which we were. The midwife uttered a cry of terror, and ran behind me, exclaiming: “It’s thieves! did you hear, monsieur? They’re coming in the window. We must rouse the whole house.” I confess that I shared the opinion of the nurse, and I was about to open the window to see what was afoot, when Marguerite, who, instead of showing signs of alarm, had smiled faintly, motioned to me to stop, and said to us: “Don’t be alarmed, I know what it is; I am used to that noise now; it is my neighbor, Monsieur Pettermann, going into his room.” “Who on earth is Monsieur Pettermann, and why does he make such a noise going into his room?” asked the midwife. “Monsieur Pettermann is a tailor, and works in his room; but he gets drunk at least three times a week; on those days he always loses his door key; then he climbs out on the gutter under the window of the landing and crawls along, at the risk of breaking his neck, to his own window, puts his fist through a pane so that he can throw back the catch, and gets into his room that way. Ask Ernest if we haven’t heard him do it more than a dozen times.” I could not help laughing at Monsieur Pettermann’s habits, while the nurse exclaimed: “Oh! the idiot! he gave me a fright. The idea of walking on a gutter! and when he is drunk, too!” “If he was sober, madame, he probably wouldn’t take the risk.” “But some day this neighbor of yours will break his neck.” “So I have often told him. The day after, when he has his window mended, he swears that it shall never happen again. The concierge has already threatened to warn him out if he doesn’t enter by his door, and doesn’t come home earlier.” At that moment we heard someone storming and swearing on the landing. Monsieur Pettermann, having entered his room, had succeeded in opening his door, which was fastened only by a spring lock. “Perhaps he wants a light,” said Marguerite; “it very seldom happens that he asks me for anything; but he may have seen that we haven’t gone to bed here.” We heard a knock at the door, and a hoarse voice stuttered: “I say, neighbor, haven’t you g--g--gone to bed, n--n--neighbor? What would you s--s--say if I should ask you to l--l--light my little c--c--candle-end?” I was curious to see neighbor Pettermann, and before Ernest had had time to drop Marguerite’s hand, I opened the door. The tailor was still young, with a frank, honest face; but the habit of drinking too much had made his nose purple and swollen, and his dress was marked by a lack of order which also betrayed his intemperance. On seeing me, he opened his eyes and said: “Hello! have I made a mistake? This is funny. Ain’t this my neighbor’s door, or has she moved?” “No, monsieur,” said Ernest, “but don’t shout so loud; she is sick. What do you want?”