“You will have some excellent neighbours,” said Campardon, reappearing with the key; “on the street side there are the Josserands, quite a family, the father who is cashier at the Saint-Joseph glass works, and also two marriageable daughters; and next to you the Pichons, the husband is a clerk; they are not rolling in wealth, but they are educated people. Everything has to be let, has it not? even in a house like this.” From the third landing, the red carpet ceased and was replaced by a simple grey holland. Octave’s vanity was slightly ruffled. The staircase had, little by little, filled him with respect; he was deeply moved at inhabiting such a fine house as the architect termed it. As, following the latter, he turned into the passage leading to his room, he caught sight through a partly open door of a young woman standing up before a cradle. She raised her head at the noise. She was fair, with clear and vacant eyes; and all he carried away was this very distinct look, for the young woman, suddenly blushing, pushed the door to in the shame-faced way of a person taken by surprise. Campardon turned round to repeat: “Water and gas on every floor, my dear fellow.” Then he pointed out a door which opened on to the servants’ staircase. Their rooms were up above. And stopping at the end of the passage, he added: “Here we are at last.” The room, which was square, pretty large, and hung with a grey wall-paper with blue flowers, was furnished very simply. Close to the alcove was a little dressing-closet with just room enough to wash one’s hands. Octave went straight to the window, which admitted a greenish light. Below was the courtyard looking sad and clean, with its regular pavement, and the shining brass tap of its cistern. And still not a human being, nor even a noise; nothing but the uniform windows, without a bird-cage, without a flower-pot, displaying the monotony of their white curtains. To hide the big bare wall of the house on the left hand side, which shut in the square of the courtyard, the windows had been repeated, imitation windows in paint, with shutters eternally closed, behind which the walled-in life of the neighbouring apartments appeared to continue. “But I shall be very comfortable here!” cried Octave delighted. “I thought so,” said Campardon. “Well! I did everything as though it had been for myself; and, moreover, I carried out the instructions contained in your letters. So the furniture pleases you? It is all that is necessary for a young man. Later on, you can make any changes you like.” And, as Octave shook his hand, thanking him, and apologising for having given him so much trouble, he resumed in a serious tone of voice: “Only, my boy, no rows here, and above all no women! On my word of honour, if you were to bring a woman here it would revolutionize the whole house!” “Be easy!” murmured the young man, feeling rather anxious.