“Madame, every Friday we are at home, every Friday.  My wife will be ravished.  I shall be ravished.  Believe me.  Let him be reassured.”

“Monsieur, you are too amiable.  I shall tell Musa.”

“Musa, he may have few friends—­it is possible, Madame—­but he is nevertheless fortunate.  Madame is English, is it not so?  My wife and I adore England and the English.  For us there is only England.  If Madame would do us the honour of coming when Musa plays....  My wife will send an invitation, to the end of remaining within the rules.  You, Madame, and any of your friends.”

“Monsieur is too amiable, truly.”

In the end they were standing together on the pavement by the waiting taxi.  She gave him her card, and breathed the words “Hotel du Danube.”  He was enchanted.  She offered her hand.  He took it, raised it, and kissed the back of it.  Then he stood with his hat off until she had passed from his sight.

Audrey was burning with excitement.  She said to herself: 

“I have discovered Paris.”

When the taxi turned again into the Rue de la Paix, she thought: 

“The car will not be waiting.  It would be too lovely if it were.”

But there the car was, huge, glistening, unreal, incredible.  And a chauffeur gloved and liveried in brown, to match the car, stood by its side, and the shopman was at the door, holding the Caprice of Roussel and the old handbag ready in his hand.

“Here is Madame,” said he.

The chauffeur saluted.

The car was closed.

“Will Madame have the carriage open or closed?”

“Closed.”

Having paid the taxi-driver, Audrey entered the car, and as she did so, she threw over her shoulder: 

“Hotel du Danube.”

While the chauffeur started the engine, the shopman with brilliant smiles delivered the music and the bag.  The door clicked.  Audrey noticed the clock, the rug, the powder-box, the speaking-tube, and the mirror.  She gazed, and saw a face triumphant and delicious in the mirror.  The car began to glide forward.  She leaned back against the pale grey upholstery, but in her soul she was standing and crying with a wild wave of the hand, to the whole street: 

“It is a miracle!”

In a moment the gigantic car stopped in front of the Hotel du Danube.  Two attendants rushed out in uniforms of delicate blue.  They did not touch their hats—­they raised them.  Audrey descended and penetrated into the portico, where a tall dandy saluted and inquired her will.  She wanted rooms; she wanted a flat?  Certainly.  They had nothing but flats.  A large flat on the ground-floor was at her disposal absolutely.  Two bedrooms, sitting-room, bathroom.  It had its own private entrance in the courtyard.  She inspected it.  The suite was furnished in the Empire style.  Herself and maid?  No.  A friend!  Well, the maids could sleep upstairs.  It could arrange itself.  She had no maid?  Her friend had no maid?  Ah!  So much the better.  Sixty francs a day.