He often stayed for hours with his concierges, closed up in the darkness of their lodges, going over the accounts.

That's where he did all his business.

He was now seated by Madame Boche's kitchen table, listening to her story of how the dressmaker on the third floor, staircase A, had used a filthy word in refusing to pay her rent.

He had had to work precious hard once upon a time.

But work was the high road to everything.