"It is most absurd for the man to think we should have been staying here. I think he must be mad."
"Yes," returned Barbara, not knowing what else to say, and they continued to rumble over more cobble stones and down dark roads, till they finally stopped in a dimly-lighted street, which, however, was broad and clean, with fairly large houses on either side.
Barbara got out with some misgivings, wondering what their fate would be this time. She had to ring several times as before; but as there was no dark archway, and the cab was close by, she had not the same fear. When the door opened, she could distinguish nothing at first, but presently espied a little woman, in a white nightcap, holding a candle.
"Dear me!" she thought, "candles and nightcaps seem to be the fashion here;" but aloud, merely asked politely for Madame Belvoir, hoping that she was not speaking to the lady in question. Before the portière (for it was she) could answer, a bright light shone out at the far end of the passage, and a girl came hurrying down, saying, "Madame Belvoir? Mais oui, entrez, entrez. C'est Mademoiselle Britton, n'est-ce pas?"
Mademoiselle Britton was not a little relieved, and so, I am sure, was her poor aunt, who came hurrying out of the cab, and was so glad to get rid of it that she paid the ten francs the man demanded without a murmur.
The French girl explained in broken English that her mother greatly regretted being absent, having been called away suddenly to an uncle who was ill, but that she and her sister would do their utmost to make Miss Britton comfortable.
By that time they had reached the end of the passage and were led into a comfortable room, where another girl was waiting. Tea was ready for them too, and Barbara thought she had never appreciated it more. She tried to explain the reason of their late arrival, and told some of their adventures; but, although both the French girls listened politely and smiled and nodded, Barbara thought that neither of them understood much of what she said. However, she did not mind that, and presently they led the way upstairs to a room that was a haven of delight to the wanderers. The windows opened on to a garden whence the scent of lilac floated, and the whole room—down to the hearth-brush, which charmed Barbara—was decorated in blue.
With the memory of that other Rue St. Sulpice still fresh in their minds, their present quarters indeed seemed delightful; and Barbara declared she could have fallen upon the necks of both girls and kissed them.
"A quite unnecessary and most impertinent proceeding," Aunt Anne replied curtly. "They will much prefer pounds, shillings, and pence to embraces," and Barbara thought that after all she was probably right.