This nocturnal flâneuse wanders through our cities and, indiscreet, surreptitiously captures the images of our lit windows. Open the curtains, she shouts, let me see your lights, your colors, your domestic warmth. This is called Tableau d'intimités. Few people in her photos, no voyeurism, but a curiosity for the habitat, architectures, shutters, crossings, doorframes, mullions, and behind, not very distinct rooms, shelves, racks, a rare television screen. From these views taken in passing, according to her nocturnal wanderings, she constitutes a booty, a treasure, which she recomposes and reassembles in mosaic compositions, where these luminous vignettes come out of the shadows, imposing their presence. The house of others is her obsession, she says; house is also her name. More attracted by the urban trace of the man than by his face, its strolling step inscribes it nevertheless in the lineage of all these walkers, of the priapism of drawing of Saint-Aubin to the drifts of Guy Debord, avid to capture the images of the city.