cheon that betrayed the former
family mansion, beneath half-effaced armorial bearings, a sign in blue
letters, Wall Papers, was thrown wide open to allow the wedding-carriage
to pass through.

Thereupon the bride, hitherto motionless and like one asleep, seemed to
wake suddenly, and if all the lights in the vast buildings, workshops or
storehouses, which surrounded the courtyard, had not been extinguished,
Risler might have seen that pretty, enigmatical face suddenly lighted by
a smile of triumph. The wheels revolved less noisily on the fine gravel
of a garden, and soon stopped before the stoop of a small house of two
floors. It was there that the young Fromonts lived, and Risler and his
wife were to take up their abode on the floor above. The house had an
aristocratic air. Flourishing commerce avenged itself therein for the
dismal street and the out-of-the-way quarter. There was a carpet on the
stairway leading to their apartment, and on all sides shone the gleaming
whiteness of marble, the reflection of mirrors and of polished copper.

While Risler was parading his delight through all the rooms of the new
apartment, Sidonie remained alone in her bedroom. By the light of the
little blue lamp hanging from the ceiling, she glanced first of all at
the mirror, which gave back her reflection from head to foot, at all her
luxurious surroundings, so unfamiliar to her; then, instead of going
to bed, she opened the window and stood leaning against the sill,
motionless as a statue.

The night was clear and warm. She could see distinctly the whole
factory, its innumerable unshaded windows, its glistening panes, its
tall chimney losing itself in the depths of the sky, and nearer at hand
the lovely little garden against the ancient wall of the former mansion.
All about were gloomy, miserable roofs and squalid streets. Suddenly
she started. Yonder, in the darkest, the ugliest of all those attics
crowding so closely together, leaning against one another, as if
overweighted with misery, a fifth-floor window stood wide open, showing
only darkness within. She recognized it at once. It was the window of
the landing on which her parents lived.

The window on the landing!

How many things the mere name recalled! How many hours, how many
days she had passed there, leaning on that damp sill, without rail or
balcony, looking toward the factory. At that moment she fancied that she
could see up yonder little Chebe's ragged person, and in t