There was a story afloat concerning the English quarter, that a tired little English lady, of no importance to look at, probably not rich, and probably not handsome, came to the most respectable hotel in Petershof, thinking to find there the peace and quiet which her weariness required.
But no one knew who the little lady was, whence she had come, and why.
She kept entirely to herself, and was thankful for the luxury of loneliness after some overwhelming sorrow.
One day she was requested to go.

The proprietor of the hotel was distressed, but he could not do otherwise than comply with the demands of his guests.
"It is not known who you are, Mademoiselle," he said.

"And you are not approved of.

You English are curious people.

But what can I do?
You have a cheap room, and are a stranger to me.