A little recovered from her chagrins, she turned eyes about the street to see what this strange law of the Prophet had made of the country that was to be her new home. The streets seemed wider than those in most of the cities of the ancient motherland, but the new life would have little to do with that, nor with the height of the buildings, which mostly gave red brick for Netznegon’s gloomy dark stone. The shop-windows were full of goods; Lalette could hardly pause to inspect, but from the distance, they had an air of meretriciousness and false luxury. All the people seemed to be in a great hurry; Lalette began to wonder what they would do if she put a small witchery on one of these urgent passengers to make him stand like a post—then shuddered away from the thought. The porter turned a corner and they were at the gate of what had evidently been at one time a very handsome villa, set back deeply from the street, with a low wall in front of it. One of the trees in the foreyard was dead and another so yellow among the spring-green leaves that it must soon go as well. There was no gate-tender; the porter pushed his way in and led up to the tall oaken double door, which showed scars where an earlier knocker had been taken off and replaced by one in the form of a sun with spreading rays. He knocked; after a long minute an old woman opened on a darkish hall with a pronounced odor of javelle, and asked what was wanted. “I am registered of the Myonessae,” said Lalette, extending her paper. “You must give it to the mattern,” said the beldame. “Set the box there.” “Two obulas,” said the porter, and as Lalette produced her purse, shot a swift, suspicious glance at the old woman. “No. Not in Dossolan money. Do you want me to be thrown into a dungeon?” Lalette flushed. “It is all I have; I only arrived from there today. Can someone change it for me?” She appealed to the woman who had admitted her. “Certainly not. It is contrary to the regulation.” The porter rather surprisingly lost his temper. “Why, you cheap whore, you cheat, you pig-sucker!” he shouted. “I should have known better than to carry for one of you Myonessae.” He stamped his foot. “I’d take your dirty box and throw it in the street, if I didn’t know the smell would kill half the people in town when it burst open.” A door opened on a sound of feminine background voices. There appeared a woman in black, with hair piled severely close to her head. “What is this, Mircella?” she asked. “Demoiselle is new. She came without two obulas to pay her porter.” The dark woman reached to the purse at her belt, drew forth coins and placed them in the porter’s hand. “Here. You are never to appear at this couvertine again.” She turned to Lalette. “You may come in and show me your paper. It is evident that you are in need of instruction.”