"You've only that one window?" He stared up the funnel to where he
could see the grey underside of the cone of snow.

"But I can make that one better than it is; and then the lady can see
herself in this little glass!" The old woman moved to the side of the
wall where a rope hung down. "_Elle a raison_; since she has a gentleman
with her! I was the same--and even not so long ago!"

She put up her thin arm and gave the rope a long pull. She must have
been strong, for the skylight and all its burden opened on a hinge, and
the snow could be seen sliding from it, could be heard in a heavy body
rumbling on the roof. She closed the skylight, and now a wan light
filtered down the funnel and turned their faces green. It was like life
at the bottom of a well, and they felt as though the level of the earth
was far above their heads, and its weighty walls pressing against
their sides.

"But why is it built this way?"

"Many houses are," said the old woman with a shrug. "It's old, older
than my mother." She sat down beside them. "Soldiers have been drunk in
here many times in the war," she said. "And in the old war, too. But I
never saw one like you." She pinched Fanny's sleeve. "Fine stuff," she
said. "The Americans are rich!"

"I'm not American."

"Rich they are. But I don't care for them. They have no real feeling for
a woman. You are not stupid, _ma belle_, to get a Frenchman for a lover."