"I rang for a waiter, and sent him down to tell the big porter at the front door to get me one.

Then I gave him five francs, and said I did not want anybody to know, because I must visit a poor, sick friend who had written to say she was in great trouble, but wished to tell no one except me that she'd come to Paris." "I shouldn't have thought such an elaborate story necessary to a waiter," I remarked, tossing up my chin a little, for I don't like Lisa's subterranean ways.

But this time she didn't even try to defend herself.
"Let's get ready at once," she said.

"I'm going to put on my long travelling cloak, to cover up this dress, and wear my black toque, with a veil.

I suppose you'll do the same?
Then we can slip out, and down the 'service' stairs.