But who this some one else was I
was unable to find out. Was _it_--and how convenient a word is _ca_ in
such a case!--male or female? I was persuaded it must be a woman, and as
a woman I always used to think of her and speak of her, to myself,--and
I thought and spoke of her often enough. Of course, I could have settled
the question at once by knocking at her door and asking for a match, but
I scorned resorting to such weak subterfuges. But how quiet she was!
Occasionally, when, contrary to my usual custom, I took another nap
after waking in the morning, instead of going out for exercise and a
glimpse of early Paris street-life,--occasionally I used to hear her
moving about on the other side of the thin partition which separated
our rooms, as stealthily as though she feared she might disturb me. She
would light her charcoal-stove, and perhaps glide softly by my door and
down stairs, to return soon with the paper of coffee, the, bit of bread,
and the egg or two which were to serve her for breakfast, and now and
then she would sing to herself, but so gently that I never could hear
the words of her song, nor scarcely the air.
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