She is standing in a high vaulted catacomb, its wet, gray walls glinting orange in the flickering torchlight. Deep, shadowed niches are cut into the s...one, rising floor to ceiling between dark passageways moving off in all directions. Before her is a waist-high stone plinth, its square, flat top patterned in polished colored stones. She stands before it unafraid, for she knows this is a time of calling, a summons to her Goddess.She holds her hands out, palms up, hovering them above the objects. A narrow frontage,four storeys high with a garret window in the roof. The windows wereheavily curtained and a set of stone steps led up to a porticoed door.She dragged her suitcases up the steps and studied a brass plaque on thewall.MADAME DUPONT'S ACADEMY OF ARTISTIC DANCE. It was the right place allright.Grimly she clacked the heavy iron door-knocker and stood back No doubtof it being the right place. Less elegant than she'd hoped for,shamefully run down in fact. There was patchy. More

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