The carriage drew up at the barrier, checked there by a picket of the National Guard posted before the iron gates.
The sergeant in command strode to the door of the vehicle. The Countess put her head from the window.
“The barrier is closed, madame,” she was curtly informed.
“Closed!” she echoed. The thing was incredible. “But... but do you mean that we cannot pass?”
“Not unless you have a permit, madame.” The sergeant leaned nonchalantly on his pike. “The orders are that no one is to leave or enter without proper papers.”
“Whose orders?”
“Orders of the Commune of Paris.”
“But I must go into the country this evening.” Madame’s voice was almost petulant. “I am expected.”
“In that case let madame procure a permit.”
“Where is it to be procured?”