One thing surprised Paul very much; he had been told that the apartments had been taken and furnished three days ago, and yet it seemed as if they had been inhabited for years, and that the owner had merely stepped out a few minutes before.

The unmade bed, and the half-burnt candles in the sleeping-room added to this impression, while on the rug lay a pair of worn slippers.

The fire had not gone out entirely, and a half-smoked cigar lay on the mantelpiece.
On the table in the sitting-room was a sheet of music paper, with a few bars jotted down upon it.

Paul felt so convinced that he was in another person's rooms, that he could not help exclaiming, "But surely some one has been living in these chambers." "We are in your own home, my dear boy," said Tantaine.
"But you took over everything, I suppose, and the original proprietor simply walked out ?" Tantaine smiled, as though an unequivocal compliment had been paid him.
"Why, do you not know your own home ?" asked he; "you have been living here for the last twelve months." "I can't understand you," answered Paul, opening his eyes in astonishment; "you must be jesting." "I am entirely in earnest; for more than a year you have been established here.

If you want a proof of the correctness of my assertion, call up the porter." He ran to the head of the staircase and called out, "Come up, Mother Brigaut." In a few moments a stout old woman came panting into the room.
"And how are you, Mother Brigaut ?" said Tantaine gayly.