She was aroused by a sudden remark of Paulette’s. “One cannot afford this very long,” she said. “Unless we hear from your grandfather by to-morrow morning we must seek this Mons. Moulin.” Lucie turned away from the window and seated herself upon a worn and faded armchair. “But, Paulette, you tell me you are so afraid in the streets, and how could we ever find the way, in the rain too?” “Are there not telephones?” returned Paulette. [Illustration: Sitting on the topmost step, her head buried in her arm, sobbing her heart out.] “To be sure. We might have thought of that at once, and so relieved our minds. Will you go down with me and see about it now, Paulette? We know the address so it should not be difficult to find it in the book. Shall we go?” “The sooner the better,” responded Paulette. So down they went to the telephone below. Paulette grudgingly produced the necessary coin to pay for the call, and after some delay they managed to get hold of the operator, but after what seemed an unconscionable time they were informed that no response came to the call. “It is probably a place of business and too late to find the proprietor,” suggested the old man in charge of the office. “To-morrow, mademoiselle, in the morning, no doubt you will find him without difficulty.” But in the morning they met with no greater success. “No answer,” reported the operator. “What can it mean?” Lucie turned in bewilderment to the old man. “Probably this person has moved away.” “Then what shall we do?” “One would best go to the place and find out. There are neighbors, no doubt, who can tell where the person has gone.” “We shall have to go. There is nothing left to do,” said Lucie, turning to Paulette. “Is it far, monsieur?” she asked. She showed the old man the slip of paper on which she had written the address. He read it and shrugged his shoulders. “Far enough.” “But one can walk?” put in Paulette. “Perhaps, if one knows the way; otherwise one must ride. A cab is not so easy to procure these days; an omnibus, perhaps. It will be much cheaper.” “The cab, no. I will not go to the expense,” declared Paulette firmly. “As to the omnibus--well, that too is a venture. How does one tell when to get out? It is all very bewildering, this.” Always a resourceful person, she now looked more worried than Lucie had ever seen her. “Perhaps we could find some one to go with us,” the happy thought came to Lucie. “That is well thought of,” said the man, who was a good sort and really quite concerned. “At another time I could accompany you myself, but in these days--” He shook his head. “I am here to look after the business of my son who has gone to the war, I who thought myself retired and comfortable for the rest of my days. But what will you? I cannot let the business go to the dogs. It is bad enough as it is, yet one must hold on to it. I will think what can be done. My grandson might go; he is at school, but when he returns we shall see.”