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Updated: May 26, 2025
A little door, vulgarly painted, gave access to a sort of antechamber, which led to a room, furnished, decorated, and carpeted with rather more luxury than might have been expected in this remote corner of Paris; but this was Madame Fournichon's favorite room and she had exerted all her taste to embellish it.
Indeed, the noise was becoming a perfect storm, but all at once they heard a sound of footsteps on the little staircase which led to their room, and Madame Fournichon's voice, crying, from below, "M. de St. Maline, M. de St. Maline!" "Well!" replied the young man. "Do not go up there, I beg!" "And why not, dear Madame Fournichon? is not all the house ours to-night?" "Not the turrets."
We may now judge if the 26th of October was impatiently expected. On the evening of the 25th a man entered, bearing a heavy bag, which he placed on Fournichon's table. "It is the price of the repast ordered for to-morrow," said he. "At how much a head?" "At six livres." "Will they have only one meal here?" "That is all." "Has the captain found them a lodging, then?"
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