Apropos of neighbors, I began to wonder who lived on my landing. I had never seen anybody go in or out; it was clearly some person of very sedentary habits. I was not curious; still, one likes to know who lives so near one. Madame Dupont would tell me. My concierge continued to do my housework; when she came one morning as usual, she was delighted to find me inclined to converse a little. "I believe you told me, Madame Dupont, that the rooms Monsieur Raymond used to occupy are let?" "Certainly they are, monsieur; they weren't vacant a week; somebody hired 'em right away." "I never happen to see a living soul go in or out; I never hear a sound." "Oh! the tenant's a very quiet party, never goes out, never has any callers; it's all right, but I don't believe she has a very exciting time." "It's a woman, is it?" "Yes, monsieur--and as to respectability and morals--oh! there's nothing to be said." "Is she an old woman?" "Not by any means, monsieur; she's a young woman--very young." "Oho! and pretty?" "Yes, very pretty--as well as I can see under the big bonnet she always wears." "What! a young and pretty woman living all alone? no lovers, no husband?" "No one, I tell you! Oh! if anyone came, I should know it." "But she must go out sometimes?" "In the morning, very early, to buy what she needs; you're still asleep, that's why you don't meet her. After that, she never stirs from her room." "It's very strange!" "I've tried to talk with her now and then; but she won't talk; it's impossible to get two words out of her. However, as she behaves decently and pays on the dot, there's nothing to be said. But it seems to me that people ought to be obliged to let you know who they are." I could not help smiling at my concierge's reflection. What she had told me of my neighbor aroused my curiosity a little, and at first I felt a desire to know her; but why should I annoy the young woman? she did not like society; perhaps she had her reasons for avoiding it. I determined to respect her retirement. I had ceased to go into society; I should have run the risk of meeting my wife or of being beset with disagreeable questions concerning the cause of our separation; in society, people are so indiscreet that they always ask, from preference, the most unpleasant questions, and I did not choose to afford them that pleasure. I went to the play, to all the places where one is free from restraint. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of my wife in a carriage, or in a box at the theatre with two or three young men; it seemed that she had not regretted Raymond very deeply, and I was not surprised; she was not so constituted as to regret anyone. When I saw her in the distance, I hastened away in the opposite direction; and she did the same; that was the only thing in which we agreed. I prayed that she might not have children now! I should have to be their father, willy-nilly. How delightful it would be to be presented with a little family that I must support!