On the morning of the twentieth day they found themselves in the Rue Vaugirard in Paris, almost under the very shadow of the Luxembourg. Agatha stopped before the doorway of a small house in the window of which a placard announced that lodgings were to let within.
"This is what we want, mademoiselle," said the girl. "I will knock here."
A woman answered the summons. She was about forty years old, with stooping shoulders, and hands gnarled and twisted by hard work. Her skin was dark, but an unhealthy pallor was upon her face, which, thin and worn, was lightened by a pair of brilliant eyes.
"Can we obtain lodging here, good citizeness?" inquired Agatha. The woman did not reply at once, being busy looking at them closely with her bright eyes.
"Have you any lodgings to let?" said Agatha once more.
"Perhaps," was the reply.
"Perhaps," repeated Edmé somewhat impatiently. "Do you not know?"
"I am Citizeness Privat," the woman answered. "There are lodgings to let in this house, most assuredly, and I have charge of the renting of them; but I act for another, and he," with emphasis on the pronoun, "insists that I shall only take those who can furnish references. Can you do so?"
"Let us come inside and we will see what can be done," said Agatha, pushing forward. The woman stepped back, and Edmé followed Agatha into the house. Agatha closed the door before speaking.
"Citizeness Privat," she said, "we are two women from the country, who have come to Paris for the first time. We know no one here, and can give you no references except money. Will that not satisfy you?" And Agatha drew a purse from her pocket.