“This is really 29 Rue Maugrabine?”
“Bien sûr, mademoiselle.”
She had forgotten to look at the taximeter, but taking three francs from her purse, she asked the driver if that was enough. He thanked her with raised hat for munificence, and, whipping up his old horse, drove off.
Félise entered a smelly little paved courtyard and gazed about her helplessly. She had imagined such another decent little house as her aunt’s, at which a ring at the front door would ensure immediate admittance. In this extraordinary dank well she felt more lost than ever. Paris was a bewildering mystery. A child emerged from some dark cavern.
“Can you tell me where Monsieur Fortinbras lives?”
The child advised her to ask the concierge, and pointed to the iron bell-pull. Félise rang. The frowsy concierge gave t
