“You? Alone? A young maid in the streets of Paris? Ciel!” she exclaimed. “It would be as a lamb among wolves. No, no, my child, it is not to be thought of.”
“But, Paulette,” protested the girl, “it is so stupid here. I thought Paris would be very gay, and here in this dark little street where one can see so little it is anything but gay, and I do not like it.”
“One cannot look for gayety in war time,” returned Paulette grimly, “and what one wants is not what one may look to receive.”
This Spartan-like response was very discouraging, and leaving Paulette to arrange and rearrange the various baskets and bundles, Lucie went to the window to gaze out into the street. A dismal rain was now falling, and such little light as might be was intercepted by the tall buildings opposite. It was not a very pleasing outlook and there was nothing going on in the street itself that particularly invited attention, yet Lucie, in order to pass away the time, sat for a long time with elbows on the window sill, looking out.
She was aroused by a sudden remark of Paulette’s. “One cannot afford this very long,” she said. “Unless we hear from your grandfather by to-morrow morning we must seek this Mons. Moulin.”
Lucie turned away from the window and seated herself upon a worn and faded armchair. “But, Paulette, you tell me you are so afraid in the streets, and how could we ever find the way, in the rain too?”
“Are there not telephones?” returned Paulette.
Sitting on the topmost step, her head buried in her arm, sobbing her heart out.
“To be sure. We might have thought of that at once, and so relieved our minds. Will you go down with me and see about it now, Paulette? We know the address so it should not be difficult to find it in the book. Shall we go?”