Of a sudden, as she wandered aimlessly on, she became conscious of an astonishing fact: numbers of people were hurrying past her. A strange proceeding on a drab day when men prefer to be indoors. But strangest of all, each one of these individuals was shorter than Petite Jeanne herself. And the little French girl was far from tall.
“How extraordinary!” she murmured under her breath. “It is as if I were some half-grown Gulliver in the land of the Pygmies.”
She knew this was pure fancy. But who were these people? A look into one storm-clad, bemuffled face told her the answer:
“Orientals. But where can they be going? They must have come from many places.”
The question absorbed her attention. It drove trouble from her mind. She followed the one whose face she had scrutinized. In time she saw him dart up a short flight of stairs to enter a door on which were inscribed the words: “Members Only.”
Other figures appeared. One and all, they followed in this one’s wake.
As Jeanne looked up she saw that the three-story building was possessed of a highly ornamented front. Strange and grotesque figures, dragons, birds of prey, great, ugly faces all done in wood or metal and painted in gaudy colors, clustered in every available niche.
Suddenly she was seized with a desire to follow these little men.
“But no!” she whispered. “They would never allow me to pass.”
She looked for the street number. There was none. She walked a few paces to the left.