He had not warned them of his intentions; he had merely written to them now and again to tell them that he was recovering, and they certainly had no idea that his return was so near at hand.
When Guillaume and Pierre had climbed the sunlit slopes of Montmartre, and crossed the quiet countrified Place du Tertre, the former, by means of a latch-key, quietly opened the door of his house, which seemed to be asleep, so profound was the stillness both around and within it.

Pierre found it the same as on the occasion of his previous and only visit.
First came the narrow passage which ran through the ground-floor, affording a view of all Paris at the further end.

Next there was the garden, reduced to a couple of plum-trees and a clump of lilac-bushes, the leaves of which had now sprouted.

And this time the priest perceived three bicycles leaning against the trees.

Beyond them stood the large work-shop, so gay, and yet so peaceful, with its huge window overlooking a sea of roofs.
Guillaume had reached the work-shop without meeting anybody.