I returned to my own room with my head in a whirl. It was not my fault that Polina had thrown a packet in my face, and preferred Mr. Astley to myself. A few banknotes were still fluttering about the floor, and I picked them up. At that moment the door opened, and the landlord appeared⁠—a person who, until now, had never bestowed upon me so much as a glance. He had come to know if I would prefer to move to a lower floor⁠—to a suite which had just been tenanted by Count V.

For a moment I reflected.

“No!” I shouted. “My account, please, for in ten minutes I shall be gone.”

“To Paris, to Paris!” I added to myself. “Every man of birth must make her acquaintance.”