is _ca_ in
such a case!--male or female? I was persuaded it must be a woman, and as
a woman I always used to think of her and speak of her, to myself,--and
I thought and spoke of her often enough. Of course, I could have settled
the question at once by knocking at her door and asking for a match, but
I scorned resorting to such weak subterfuges. But how quiet she was!
Occasionally, when, contrary to my usual custom, I took another nap
after waking in the morning, instead of going out for exercise and a
glimpse of early Paris street-life,--occasionally I used to hear her
moving about on the other side of the thin partition which separated
our rooms, as stealthily as though she feared she might disturb me. She
would light her charcoal-stove, and perhaps glide softly by my door and
down stairs, to return soon with the paper of coffee, the, bit of bread,
and the egg or two which were to serve her for breakfast, and now and
then she would sing to herself, but so gently that I never could hear
the words of her song, nor scarcely the air. An evil spirit put gimlets
into my head, but I shook them out like so much powder, and resolved to
be honorable, if I was an artist. I found, however, that my curiosity
was an abominable nuisance, that my morning walks were almost entirely
neglected, and that I could not bear to leave my room until I had heard
her go out and lock her door behind her. Every day, after her departure,
I resolved that she should not go out again without being seen by me,
and every time I attempted to follow her in such a way as to escape
detection I lost sight of her. I nearly fell into the street as I
attempted to reach far enough out of my window to see her as she came
out at the street-door.

At last, one morning, when it happened, that, just as I had finished
dressing myself and was ready to go out, she opened her door and ran
down stairs without closing it behind her, carried away by my curiosity,
I stepped out into the narrow passage-way and looked into her sanctuary.
The room was a smaller one than mine,--but how much neater! The muslin
curtains in her window were as white as snow; her wardrobe, which hung
against the wall, was protected from the dust by a linen cloth; the
floor shone like a mirror. Her canary hung in the window, and greeted me
with a perfect whirlwind of _roulades_ as I stepped into the room. Her
fire was burning briskly under a pot of water, which was just coming
to the boiling-point, a