The children walked up to the front door. It was green and narrow.
A chain with a handle hung beside it, and joined itself quite
openly to a rusty bell that hung under the porch. Cyril had pulled
the bell and its noisy clang was dying away before the terrible
thought came to all. Cyril spoke it.
'My hat!' he breathed. 'We don't know any French!'
At this moment the door opened. A very tall, lean lady, with pale
ringlets like whitey-brown paper or oak shavings, stood before
them. She had an ugly grey dress and a black silk apron. Her eyes
were small and grey and not pretty, and the rims were red, as
though she had been crying.
She addressed the party in something that sounded like a foreign
language, and ended with something which they were sure was a
question. Of course, no one could answer it.
'What does she say?' Robert asked, looking down into the hollow of
his jacket, where the Phoenix was nestling. But before the Phoenix
could answer, the whitey-brown lady's face was lighted up by a most
charming smile.
'You--you ar-r-re fr-r-rom the England!' she cried. 'I love so
much the England. Mais entrez--entrez donc tous! Enter,
then--enter all. One essuyes his feet on the carpet.' She pointed
to the mat.
'We only wanted to ask--'
'I shall say you all that what you wish,' said the lady.
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