Punished with banishment by an inhospitable landlord, Rodolphe had for some time been living a life more free-floating than the clouds, and he’d perfected as best he could the art of going to bed without supper, or having supper without a bed to go to. His chef was named Luck and he often slept out at the Starry Night Hotel.

There were two things that Rodolphe never lost during these difficult times: his good humor and the manuscript of The Avenger, a play he’d written that had made the rounds of every theatre in Paris.

One day, having been transported to jail because of some staggering footsteps that were too strangely choreographed for public taste, Rodolphe found himself face to face with his uncle Monetti, a stove and chimney maker he hadn't seen for a very long time.

Touched by his nephew's troubles, Uncle Monetti promised to help him improve his situation and we will find out how—that is, if the reader isn't afraid to climb with us up the stairs, all the way to the sixth floor.

To begin, take hold of the banister and climb. Ooowh! One hundred and twenty-five steps. Here we are. One more step and we’re in the room. It's so small that if we take another step we won't be. It's small, but it's high up. Anyway, the air is good and there's a fine view.

The furniture consists of several Prussian-style fireplaces, two stoves—very economical stoves too, especially when there's nothing to burn in them—a dozen lengths of pipe, some terra cotta, some tin, and many other heating devices. To complete this inventory, the list also includes a hammock hanging from two nails in the wall, a garden chair with one amputated leg, a candlestick decorated with a ring to catch the wax, and various other objects of art and of fantasy.

As for the other room, it's a balcony, with two dwarf cyprus trees, in pots, transforming it into a park in the summer.

As we enter, the host of this establishment, a young man dressed in the costume of a Turk from a comic opera, is coming to the end of a meal that shamelessly violates the law of the prophet: a bottle that had once been full of wine stands next to the remains of what had once been a pork knuckle.