Among the passers-by he is a somebody.

I heard from a group of students seated before a cafe the following words, which Sylvestre did not seem to notice: "Look, do you see the taller of those two there?
That's Sylvestre Lampron." "Prix du Salon two years ago ?" "A great gun, you know." "He looks it." "To the left," said Lampron.
We turned to the left, and found ourselves in the Rue Hautefeuille, before a shabby house, within the porch of which hung notices of apartments to let; this was the framemaker's.

The passage was dark, the walls were chipped by the innumerable removals of furniture they had witnessed.

We went upstairs.

On the fourth floor a smell of glue and sour paste on the landing announced the tenant's profession.