"Ahhh...the taxi...Rue Cambon...now go...allez..." the old man insisted, leaving his makeshift shop to personally escort Marie Negre to an awaiting horse-drawn cart that oddly did not look out of place. A dark-skinned man dressed in peasant garb tipped his cap and then proceeded to urge his pony forward, jolting Marie Negre forward on her rude seat as soon as she was situated, lurching a tad in time to catch a small pamphlet tossed in her direction.
"What is your name....who are you?" she managed, feeling very drowsy.
"A friend of the great Dali," she heard in reply, then the scene was lost from 22's view as the rustic transport made its way to one of the most fashionable addresses on the planet.
"I've seen it all," the tired young woman mused to no one in particular. Turning her attention to the plain booklet, a turned page soon revealed a series of line drawings, all accompanied by a star signature and a name...Jean Cocteau.
"Holy Jesu," Marie Negre gasped. "This sketchbook belonged to...Jean Cocteau! He was a great friend of Chanel...is that why I am being sent to the Rue Cambon? And Dali - which Dali - oh, the artist, of course...he knew Chanel and Cocteau - Chanel was his best friend...what is going on?"
The driver merely whistled "Toreador" from Bizet's Carmen, and 22 was just about to ask him if he was himself a gypsy, when, quite without warning, she passed out against the cartman's shoulder.
