Leaving the Route d'Asnieres, the driver had turned into the Route
de la Revolte, and had drawn up in front of an unpretentious two-
storied house which stood entirely alone. "We have arrived,
mother," said Pascal.
A man, who was standing on the threshold, stepped forward to open
the cab door. It was the furniture-dealer. "Here you are at
last, M. Maumejan," said he. "Come in, and you'll see that I've
strictly fulfilled the conditions of our contract." His words
proved true. He was paid the sum stipulated, and went away
satisfied.
"Now, my dear mother," said Pascal, "allow me to do the honors of
the poor abode I have selected."
He had taken only the ground floor of this humble dwelling. The
story above, which had an independent entrance and staircase, was
occupied by the quiet family of the owner. Although the space was
small, the architect had made the most of it. He had divided it
into four small rooms, separated by a corridor; and the kitchen
looked out upon a little garden about four times as large as an
ordinary sheet. The furniture which Pascal had purchased was more
than plain; but it was well suited to this humble abode. It had
just been brought in, but any one would have supposed it had been
in its place for a couple of years.
"We shall be very comfortable here," declared Madame Ferailleur.
"Yes, very comfortable. By to-morrow evening you won't recognize
the place. I have saved a few trifles from the wreck--some
curtains, a couple of lamps, a clock--you'll see.
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