"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To Saint-Lazare."
I had never heard of Saint-Lazare before. I only knew of the station of that name. I supposed they referred to a kind of home for women, a kind of infirmary. We entered a taxi and drove away. We passed by the Châtelet. I recognised it.... The inspectors looked very sad. They spoke kind words to me....
"Is it very far, Saint-Lazare?" I asked.
I looked through the window. Paris seemed a new, a different city....
We reached Saint-Lazare. I glanced at the big building; it reminded me of a convent.... And there were so many doors. We passed through a yard, a passage. Then we came to a small room.
"Your name," said some one.
"Why?"
"You must write it, here...."
"Yes, Madame," said one of the inspectors, kindly. "Write your name, your age...."