There was never a lift, or what we Americans call an elevator.

If you wanted to go up you walked up; and after dark your single illuminant was candlelight.

The service could hardly be recommended, but cleanliness herself could find no fault with the beds and bedding; nor any queer people about; changeless; as still and stationary as a nook in the Rockies.
A young girl might dwell there year in and year out in perfect safety--many young girls did so--madame a kind of duenna.

The food--for it was a _pension_--was all a gourmet could desire.

And the wine! I was lunching with an old Parisian friend.
"What do you think of this vintage ?" says he.
"Very good," I answered.