The sun that blazed in at the west doorway smote her face as she emerged from beneath it and revealed real sadness there.
'This is not all the old architecture of the town by far,' she said to her aunt with an air of confidence.

'Coachman, drive to St.Jacques'.' He was not at St.Jacques'.

Looking from the west end of that building the girl observed the end of a steep narrow street of antique character, which seemed a likely haunt.

Beckoning to her aunt to follow in the fly Paula walked down the street.
She was transported to the Middle Ages.

It contained the shops of tinkers, braziers, bellows-menders, hollow-turners, and other quaintest trades, their fronts open to the street beneath stories of timber overhanging so far on each side that a slit of sky was left at the top for the light to descend, and no more.