Godefroid was wearing polished leather boots, yellow gloves, handsome
studs, and a very pretty gold chain passed through the buttonhole of
his waistcoat of black silk with blue flowers. Madame de la Chanterie
took a little silver whistle from her pocket and blew it. The
serving-woman came.

"Manon, my child, show this gentleman the apartment. Would you, my
dear vicar, be so kind as to accompany him?" she said, addressing the
priest. "If by chance," she added, rising and again looking at
Godefroid, "the apartment suits you, we will talk of the conditions."

Godefroid bowed and went out. He heard the rattle of keys which Manon
took from a drawer, and he saw her light the candle in a large brass
candlestick. Manon went first, without uttering a word. When Godefroid
found himself again on the staircase, winding up two flights, he
doubted the reality of life, he dreamed awake, he saw with his eyes
the fantastic world of romances he had read in his idle hours. Any
Parisian leaving, as he did, the modern quarter, with its luxury of
houses and furniture, the glitter of its restaurants and theatres, the
tumult and movement of the heart of Paris, would have shared his
feeling.

The candle carried by the woman feebly lighted the winding stair,
where spiders swung their draperies gray with dust. Manon wore a
petticoat with heavy plaits of a coarse woollen stuff; the bodice was
square before and square behind, and all her clothes seemed to hang
together. When she reached the second floor, which, it will be
remembered, was actually the third, Manon stopped, turned a key in an
ancient lock, and opened a door painted in a coarse imitation of
mahogany.