idle fancy recalled vividly, bit by bit, the details of the scene
that had ensued on his fainting fit. The young girl's profile was
clearly projected against the darkness of his inward vision; he
saw once more the mother's faded features, or he felt the touch
of Adelaide's hands. He remembered some gesture which at first
had not greatly struck him, but whose exquisite grace was thrown
into relief by memory; then an attitude, or the tones of a
melodious voice, enhanced by the distance of remembrance,
suddenly rose before him, as objects plunging to the bottom of
deep waters come back to the surface.

So, on the day when he could resume work, he went early to his
studio; but the visit he undoubtedly had a right to pay to his
neighbors was the true cause of his haste; he had already
forgotten the pictures he had begun. At the moment when a passion
throws off its swaddling clothes, inexplicable pleasures are
felt, known to those who have loved. So some readers will
understand why the painter mounted the stairs to the fourth floor
but slowly, and will be in the secret of the throbs that followed
each other so rapidly in his heart at the moment when he saw the
humble brown door of the rooms inhabited by Mademoiselle
Leseigneur. This girl, whose name was not the same as her
mother's, had aroused the young painter's deepest sympathies; he
chose to fancy some similarity between himself and her as to
their position, and attributed to her misfortunes of birth akin
to his own. All the time he worked Hippolyte gave himself very
willingly to thoughts of love, and made a great deal of noise to
compel the two ladies to think of him, as he was thinking of
them. He stayed late at the studio and dined there; then, at
about seven o'clock, he went down to call on his neighbors.