Automne Parisien

I look under the bed first. Pass my hand in a sweeping motion left and right - all I encounter is slut’s wool, enough to knit a blanket probably. Why I think the noise could be caused by anything under my bed, I do not know. In fact, I have no idea what could be causing the noise. It could be something wrong with my ears, as though I really did have kettle drums in there. But that is merely fanciful. Some afrit or other might easily have hidden under my bed I suppose. It is high. I do not fear a fall. I find its tubular metal frame comforting. Institutional.

    My garret at the top of this house is eminently suited to such a bed.

Getting to my feet again, which I have begun to do more slowly than ever in recent months, I lift my nightshirt hem, lest I trip on the way from the bed to the lamp on the secretaire. Lamp, I say, but it is more a lantern. I once preferred a candle, but they all seemed to last no longer than a whorehouse bougie. I did have an oil lamp, once upon a time. I even gave it a rub occasionally, for old times sake. Now I have a lantern, it uses naphtha oil too, and it burns bright enough.
    I take the lantern back to the bed, get somewhat gingerly on all fours and shine the lantern under the bed. I hear a scuttling sound, glimpse somethng moving, Hear the snap of a mousetrap, but no ensuant squeal. I grope for the trap, the cheese is gone and so has my rodent friend. I look to the window, carry the lantern over to the sill and lift the sash. The streets of Montmartre are empty, though it is already four in the morning. There a few lights on the upper floors of the sporting houses, but not a soul is on the street. For it is cold. Unseasonally so, for late October. Not even the most desperate of les catins* is standing in a doorway.
    
    But that may not be due to the inclement weather.

I open the door to the press. Checking this is quite the very last resort. My guest is long past making the kind of noise I think I heard. It will soon be time to invite another for dinner.
                                                                                                                                

*Strumpets, or bawds