live in a phalansterian community.

At this particular time the inconvenience was not great, the fourth and
fifth floors alone happening to be occupied, as though the tenants had
dropped into them from the sky.

On the fourth floor, behind a door with a copper plate bearing the
announcement "M. Joyeuse, Expert in Bookkeeping," the doctor heard
a sound of fresh laughter, of young people's chatter, and of romping
steps, which accompanied him to the floor above, to the photographic
establishment.

These little businesses perched away in corners with the air of having
no communication with any outside world are one of the surprises of
Paris. One asks one's self how the people live who go into these
trades, what fastidious Providence can, for example, send clients to
a photographer lodged on a fifth floor in a nondescript region, well
beyond the Rue Saint-Ferdinand, or books to keep to the accountant
below. Jenkins, as he made this reflection, smiled in pity, then went
straight in as he was invited by the following inscription, "Enter
without knocking." Alas! the permission was scarcely abused. A tall
young man wearing spectacles, and writing at a small table, with his
legs wrapped in a travelling-rug, rose precipitately to greet the
visitor whom his short sight had prevented him from recognising.

"Good-morning, Andre," said the doctor, stretching out his loyal hand.

"M. Jenkins!"

"You see, I am good-natured as I have always been. Your conduct towards
us, your obstinacy in persisting in living far away from your parents,
imposed a great reserve on me, for my own dignity's sake; but your
mother has wept. And here I am."

While he spoke, he examined the poor little studio, with its bare walls,
its scanty furniture, the brand-new photographic apparatus, the little
Prussian fireplace, new also and never yet used for a fire, all forced
into painfully clear evidence beneath the direct light falling from the
glass roof. The drawn face, the scanty beard of the young man, to whom
the bright colour of his eyes, the narrow height of his forehead,
his long and fair hair thrown backward gave the air of a visionary,
everything was accentuated in the crude light; and also the resolute
will in that clear glance which settled upon Jenkins coldly, and in
advance to all his reasonings, to all his protestations, opposed an
invincible resistance.

But the good Jenkins feigned not to perceive anything of this.

"You know, my dear An