Here, then, I stood at the appointed time, staring at the surly row of houses on either side of me and at the dead wall in my face. Twice I paced up and down the length of the street; but there was no sign of La Marmotte. On the second occasion, however, as I came back, the door of the house on the right-hand side nearest the arch opened slightly, and I heard her voice.
"Enter, monsieur."
For one little moment I hesitated, and then boldly slipped in. As I did so the door was immediately shut, and I found myself in almost total darkness.
"A moment." Then I heard the striking of a tinderbox. There was a small, bright glow, then the flame of some burning paper, that threw out the figure of La Marmotte as she lit a candle, and holding it out motioned me up a rickety staircase that faced us.
I had drawn my poniard as I stepped in, so evil-looking was the place, and she caught the gleam of the steel.
"It is needless," she said coldly; "we are alone."
"Perhaps, madame," I replied, taking no notice of her remark, "you had better lead the way; the place is known to you."
She did as I desired, and we soon found ourselves in a small room, in which there was some broken-down furniture. There was one window, which was closed, and being made entirely of wood all light was shut out except that which the candle gave.
"A strange place," I said, looking around me.
"When one is as I am, monsieur," was the bitter answer, "one gets friends with strange places."