house, he under-let the two upper floors furnished, in order to lighten the rent. "You have a room to let, sir?" said Denise, approaching him in obedience to an instinctive impulse. He raised his big bushy eyes, surprised to see her, for he knew all the young persons at The Ladies' Paradise. And after noticing her clean little gown and respectable appearance, he replied: "It won't suit you." "How much is it, then?" replied Denise. "Fifteen francs a month." She asked to see it. Then on entering the narrow shop, and observing that he still eyed her with an astonished air, she told him of her departure from the Paradise and of her desire not to trouble her uncle. The old man thereupon fetched a key from a shelf in the back-shop, a small dark room, where he did his cooking and had his bed; beyond it, through a dirty window, you could espy a back-yard about six feet square. "I'll walk in front to prevent you from falling," said Bourras, entering the damp corridor on one side of the shop. He stumbled against a stair, and then commenced the ascent, reiterating his warning to be careful. The rail, said he, was close against the wall, there was a hole at the corner, sometimes the lodgers left their dust-boxes there. So complete was the obscurity that Denise could distinguish nothing, but simply felt how chilly the old damp plaster was. On the first floor, however, a small window overlooking the yard enabled her to obtain a vague glimpse of the rotten staircase, the walls black with dirt and the cracked, discoloured doors. "If only one of these rooms were vacant," resumed Bourras. "You would be very comfortable there. But they are always occupied." On the second floor the light increased, illumining with a raw pallor the distressful aspect of the house. A journeyman-baker occupied the first room, and it was the other, the further one, that was vacant. When Bourras had opened the door he was obliged to remain on the landing in order that Denise might enter with ease. The bed, placed in the corner nearest the door, left just sufficient room for one person to pass. At the other end there was a small walnut-wood chest of drawers, a deal table stained black, and two chairs. Such lodgers as did any cooking were obliged to kneel before the fire-place, where there was an earthenware stove. "Oh! it's not luxurious," said the old man, "but the view from the window is gay. You can see the people passing in the street." And, as Denise gazed with surprise at the ceiling just above the bed, where a chance lady-lodger had written her name--Ernestine--by drawing the flame of a candle over the plaster, he added with a smile: "If I did a lot of repairs, I should never make both ends meet. There you are; it's all I have to offer." "I shall be very well here," declared the young girl.