She heard Coupeau's song the moment she reached the foot of the staircase.

Just the same tune, just the same dance.

She might have thought herself going up again after having only been down for a minute.

The attendant of the day before, who was carrying some jugs of tisane along the corridor, winked his eye as he met her, by way of being amiable.
"Still the same, then ?" said she.
"Oh! still the same!" he replied without stopping.
She entered the room, but she remained near the door, because there were some people with Coupeau.

The fair, rosy house surgeon was standing up, having given his chair to a bald old gentleman who was decorated and had a pointed face like a weasel.