Dreading further persecutions by the monster that seemed relentlessly bent on her undoing, Elisabeth Dollon had experienced a deep sense of satisfaction after her change of abode, persuaded that an era of peace and tranquility was now before her. Nevertheless, in excess of caution, she had charged Mme. Doulenques, the concierge of the house in the Rue des Couronnes, not to give her new address to anyone whatsoever. Moreover, having been only eight and forty hours installed in her new apartments, she was not expecting anyone to call. It was therefore not without considerable perturbation that suddenly, about two o’clock that afternoon, the girl heard a violent ring at the bell. Who was it? Who could be coming to pay her a visit? However, she was somewhat reassured on recognizing the concierge’s voice calling to her through the door. “Mam’zelle, I say, mam’zelle! are you asleep then, or are you gone deaf? Here’s a good five minutes we’ve been tugging at your bell!” On opening the door, Elisabeth Dollon found herself confronted not only by the portress, but by a man as well, a man of forty or thereabouts, with a pleasant, jovial-looking face. He was dressed in a long-skirted white blouse, and carried under one arm a half-dozen rolls of paper, while the other hand held a deep paste-pot with a big brush with a wooden handle sticking up in it. The workman greeted the young girl with an almost imperceptible nod of the head, as she unclosed the door. “By’r leave, mam’zelle,” he said, “but I’m the painter and paper-hanger and I’m come from the landlord to paper your place. Seemingly you want it done?” “Certainly I do,” the girl answered him, “there’s the whole of one room wants fresh papering. But,” she added, “I’m not entitled, am I, to choose the paper?” The man smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes, you are, mam’zelle; and, more by token, I’ve brought patterns!”—adding, with a big laugh, “D’you suppose I’m going to paper your walls straight away like that, in less time than it takes to say ‘knife’; you’ve got to choose, then we’ll try how the thing looks, and then, when you’ve quite made up your mind, we’ll see about fixing up the stuff.” The concierge, seeing her presence was no longer required and the introductions being duly made, took her departure, with a word of excuse. “I’ll leave you now,” the good woman said, “and get back to my lodge; the fact is, I’ve got ‘company’ this afternoon.” Elisabeth Dollon led the way into her flat and took the paper-hanger straight to the room that was to be decorated. It was the furthest from the entrance-door, the one in which M. Moche, the landlord, had had the partition re-established that had been removed by the previous tenant to make the two sets into one. The workman displayed no great anxiety to set to work, and began to ferret about everywhere and examine the young woman’s furniture in a rather inquisitorial fashion.