Weeks later I returned to check things out. The vibration noise from the ventilation had significantly dropped, however, Mme. Empathy had not yet insulted her kitchen ceiling. Other decent restaurants in Paris would either install their noisy machines in the basement, or rent or buy the first floor above the kitchen to protect their neighbours from the noise. Of course, Mme. Empathy would install her kitchen on the ground floor directly under the residential apartments. This meant I would continue to be exposed to the mechanical noise during the night. The restaurant had ameliorated just enough so that Mr Honour would not be linked to my near death ordeal. I could still perish from insomnia for all they cared, the restaurant from Hell.