not what, of quivering buoyancy in the person, in the gait; the woman
seems to weigh less; she steps, or rather, she glides like a star, and
floats onward led by a thought which exhales from the folds and motion
of her dress. The young man hastened his step, passed the woman, and
then turned back to look at her. Pst! she had disappeared into a
passage-way, the grated door of which and its bell still rattled and
sounded. The young man walked back to the alley and saw the woman
reach the farther end, where she began to mount--not without receiving
the obsequious bow of an old portress--a winding staircase, the lower
steps of which were strongly lighted; she went up buoyantly, eagerly,
as though impatient.

"Impatient for what?" said the young man to himself, drawing back to
lean against a wooden railing on the other side of the street. He
gazed, unhappy man, at the different storeys of the house, with the
keen attention of a detective searching for a conspirator.

It was one of those houses of which there are thousands in Paris,
ignoble, vulgar, narrow, yellowish in tone, with four storeys and
three windows on each floor. The outer blinds of the first floor were
closed. Where was she going? The young man fancied he heard the tinkle
of a bell on the second floor. As if in answer to it, a light began to
move in a room with two windows strongly illuminated, which presently
lit up the third window, evidently that of a first room, either the
salon or the dining-room of the apartment. Instantly the outline of a
woman's bonnet showed vaguely on the window, and a door between the
two rooms must have closed, for the first was dark again, while the
two other windows resumed their ruddy glow. At this moment a voice
said, "Hi, there!" and the young man was conscious of a blow on his
shoulder.