ndows on the street, and bears some resemblance to a
parrot's perch. On each floor are two rooms, let as separate flats.
There is a narrow staircase clinging to the wall, queerly lighted by
windows which mark its ascent on the outer wall, each landing being
indicated by a stink, one of the most odious peculiarities of Paris. The
shop and entresol at that time were tenanted by a tinman; the landlord
occupied the first floor; the four upper stories were rented by
very decent working girls, who were treated by the portress and the
proprietor with some consideration and an obligingness called forth by
the difficulty of letting a house so oddly constructed and situated.
The occupants of the quarter are accounted for by the existence there of
many houses of the same character, for which trade has no use, and which
can only be rented by the poorer kinds of industry, of a precarious or
ignominious nature.

At three in the afternoon the portress, who had seen Mademoiselle Esther
brought home half dead by a young man at two in the morning, had just
held council with the young woman of the floor above, who, before
setting out in a cab to join some party of pleasure, had expressed her
uneasiness about Esther; she had not heard her move. Esther was, no
doubt, still asleep, but this slumber seemed suspicious. The portress,
alone in her cell, was regretting that she could not go to see what was
happening on the fourth floor, where Mademoiselle Esther lodged.

Just as she had made up her mind to leave the tinman's son in charge of
her room, a sort of den in a recess on the entresol floor, a cab stopped
at the door. A man stepped out, wrapped from head to foot in a cloak
evidently intended to conceal his dress or his rank in life, and
asked for Mademoiselle Esther. The portress at one felt relieved; this
accounted for Esther's silence and quietude. As the stranger mounted
the stairs above the portress' room, she noticed silver buckles in his
shoes, and fancied she caught sight of the black fringe of a priest's
sash; she went downstairs and catechised the driver, who answered
without speech, and again the woman understood.

The priest knocked, received no answer, heard a slight gasp, and forced
the door open with a thrust of his shoulder; charity, no doubt lent him
strength, but in any one else it would have been ascribed to practice.
He rushed to the inner room, and there found poor Esther in front of an
image of the Virgin in painted