The door was immediately opened.

As Noel passed before him the concierge made a most respectful, and at the same time patronizing bow, one of those salutations which Parisian concierges reserve for their favorite tenants, generous mortals always ready to give.

On reaching the second floor, the advocate paused, drew a key from his pocket, and opening the door facing him, entered as if at home.

But at the sound of the key in the lock, though very faint, a lady's maid, rather young and pretty, with a bold pair of eyes, ran toward him.
"Ah! it is you, sir," cried she.
This exclamation escaped her just loud enough to be audible at the extremity of the apartment, and serve as a signal if needed.

It was as if she had cried, "Take care!" Noel did not seem to notice it.