Hipólito's rooms were on an upper floor, to which they climbed in silence, except for Jenaro, who knew about all the possible hazards and announced their approach:

“Look out for that pipe! … Miss Santa, don't hold on the banister here, because there's a piece of it missing … Single file, now, around these broken floor boards. That hole's as big as me … Okay, we're there!”

Santa, now accustomed to living in complete squalor, could not help but admire the building. Leaning on the railing, she looked at the courtyard from above as Hipólito fumbled excitedly with the key to his room.

“What a nice place this is, Hipo. So big!”

The piano player's little apartment had three rooms and a bit of terrace. The first room was midsized, with wallpaper (although streaked and torn) and a ceiling (although full of holes and covered with stains where the roof leaked). The second room, windowless and dark, belonged to Jenaro and the pet dove that had arrived one day from the skies, of his own accord, and had become so tame that he came when called by his name, which was “Jaws.” Jaws was the most attractive thing about the whole place. He followed them around like a dog, toddling across the floor with his tail fanned out, and flew confidently from room to room. Jaws ate while sitting on Hipólito's shoulder, taking food from Jenaro's lips, and his cooing and burbling cheered them up. The last room was the kitchen, with a place to cook, long unused, and a cupboard populated with dust, damp, mice and spiders. Jenaro's room, however, boasted a bed devised by the resourceful guide boy himself: a set of wine crates in a row with straw stuffed between them and a sleeping mat spread on top, plus several faded pieces of old carpet and a hand-me-down blanket that had belonged to Hipólito. The kid slept in the lap of luxury! The patrón's room, of course, was the best furnished by far with its nice store-bought bed, a mattress with springs and wool padding, sheets, quilt, and pillows, and a store-bought dresser with a mirror that did Hipólito absolutely no good. The apartment had everything you need: a night stand and a dinner table, a cheap sofa, a wardrobe that actually locked, four chairs, and a quirky array of plates, glasses, forks, and spoons. There was a lamp, missing some parts, that did not illuminate much even when lit, and a half-burnt candle in a candlestick that previous candles had decorated prodigally with overlapping layers of melted wax.

They opted to light the candle instead of the lamp, and when informed that his house was now illuminated, Hipólito removed his hat, took both of Santa's hands in his and, kissing them, he exclaimed solemnly:

“Look how little I can offer you, Santa, but it's all yours, everything, even Jenaro and me. Here you'll get better and be in charge, and here nobody—nobody you don't want, I mean—will come to disturb you. Are you happy?”