在冬季夜晚噪声从未停止过在圣街，除非很短的间隔安娜。厨房园丁携带自己的产品推向市场继续搅拌，从剧院和球车返回。附近这一巴黎的哗然，其中大约发生在凌晨宏伟交响乐持续暂停中旬，大人塞萨尔Birotteau，旺多姆广场附近设立了一个香水的妻子，是她的睡眠也从一个可怕的梦。她看到她的一倍。她似乎对自己的衣衫褴褛衣服，用干瘪，干枯的手转动锁定了自己的店铺门口，好像在门槛，在她的柜台后面的椅子坐在同一时机仍未成熟。她问她自己施舍，并听取了她来说，从门口，从她的座位也出席了桌子。
    她试图抓住她的丈夫，但她的手在寒冷的地方下降。她的恐怖变得如此激烈，她不能移动她的脖子，这仿佛石化僵硬，她的喉咙膜变得粘在一起，她的声音辜负了她。她仍然坐在屹立于在壁龛中同样的姿势，其中两个小组是敞开的，她的眼睛凝视和固定，她的头发颤抖，她的耳朵充满了奇怪的声音，但她的心收紧雀跃，和她的人沐浴在汗水，虽然寒气刺骨。
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    During winter nights noise never ceases in the Rue Saint-Honore except for a short interval. Kitchen-gardeners carrying their produce to market continue the stir of carriages returning from theatres and balls. Near the middle of this sustained pause in the grand symphony of Parisian uproar, which occurs about one o'clock in the morning, the wife of Monsieur Cesar Birotteau, a perfumer established near the Place Vendome, was startled from her sleep by a frightful dream. She had seen her double. She had appeared to herself clothed in rags, turning with a shrivelled, withered hand the latch of her own shop- door, seeming to be at the threshold, yet at the same time seated in her armchair behind the counter. She was asking alms of herself, and heard herself speaking from the doorway and also from her seat at the desk.
    She tried to grasp her husband, but her hand fell on a cold place. Her terror became so intense that she could not move her neck, which stiffened as if petrified; the membranes of her throat became glued together, her voice failed her. She remained sitting erect in the same posture in the middle of the alcove, both panels of which were wide open, her eyes staring and fixed, her hair quivering, her ears filled with strange noises, her heart tightened yet palpitating, and her person bathed in perspiration though chilled to the bone.