Chapter fivePaul was silent for a moment and then with a sudden change of mood he said with a lilt in his voice,
“We are nearing Montmartre, I want you to see my part of Paris.”
He rose as he spoke and began to unclip the hood of the fiacre so that it fell back and they were in the sunshine.
“Can you manage, monsieur?” the cocher shouted from the box.
“I can manage, thank you,” Paul answered.
He pushed back the soft leather hood and now Atalanta felt the sun on her bare head and looked around in surprise.
While they were talking they had left the boulevards and the houses behind. Now they were climbing a steep hill on top of which she could see a number of windmills.
The crumbling rocky sides of the hill were abrupt as precipices and dangerous to all except the small goats feeding o
