Grivet was stupefied at his departure.

A young man, said he, who had such a brilliant future before him, a young man who in the space of four years, had reached a salary that he, Grivet, had taken twenty years to attain! Laurent stupefied him still more, when he told him he was going to give his whole time to painting.
At last the artist installed himself in his studio, which was a sort of square loft about seven or eight yards long by the same breadth.

The ceiling which inclined abruptly in a rapid slope, was pierced by a large window conveying a white raw light to the floor and blackish walls.
The sounds in the street did not ascend so high.

This silent, wan room, opening above on the sky, resembled a hole, or a vault dug out of grey clay.

Laurent furnished the place anywise; he brought a couple of chairs with holes in the rush seats, a table that he set against the wall so that it might not slip down, an old kitchen dresser, his colour-box and easel; all the luxury in the place consisted of a spacious divan which he purchased for thirty francs from a second-hand dealer.
He remained a fortnight without even thinking of touching his brushes.
He arrived between eight and nine o'clock in the morning, smoked, stretched himself on the divan, and awaited noon, delighted that it was morning, and that he had many hours of daylight before him.