"Were not three whistles given from one of those windows just now?"
"Yes."
"Well, they were to summon me."
"You?"
"Yes."
"On your honor?"
"As a gentleman, Dame Fournichon."
"Enter, then, monsieur, enter."
And happy at having a client after her own heart, fit for the "Rose-tree of love," the hostess conducted Ernanton up the stairs herself. A little door, vulgarly painted, gave access to a sort of antechamber, which led to a room, furnished, decorated, and carpeted with rather more luxury than might have been expected in this remote corner of Paris; but this was Madame Fournichon's favorite room and she had exerted all her taste to embellish it.
When the young man entered the antechamber, he smelled a strong aromatic odor, the work, doubtless, of some susceptible person, who had thus tried to overcome the smell of cooking exhaled from the kitchen.