George Kedenburg III AND Home Address"

r 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 wa

ouse as he
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George Kedenburg III AND Home Address"

s a bewildering mystery. A child e

merged from some dark cavern. “Can you tell me whe

re Monsieur Fortinbras lives?” The c

hild advised her to ask the concierge, and pointed t

o the iron bell-pull. Félise rang

. The frowsy concierge gave the directions. “Au qu

George Kedenburg III AND Home Address"

atrième au coin, à gauche.”

Félise entered the corner cavern and came on an evil-smelling stone staircase, lit here and there by naked gas-jets which blackened the walls at intervals. The cold gathered round her heart. On the second landing

some noisy, ill-dressed men clattered past her and caused her to shrink back with fear. She mounted the interminable stairs. Here and there an open door revealed a squalid interior. The rosy dream became a nightmare. She had made some horrible blun

der. It was impossible that he

r father should live here. But the concierge had confirmed the address. On the fourth floor she paused; then, as directed, turned down a small, ill-lit passage to the left. On a door facing her at the end, she noticed the glea

m of a card. She approached. It bore the printed legend, “Daniel Fortinbras, Ancien Avoué de Londres, Agent de Famille, &c, &c.” And written in pencil was the direction: “Sonnez, S. V. P.” The sight r

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