She muttered her thanks, and began the laborious process of writing her name again.

For a minute, she was so absorbed in remembering how to spell her name that she didn't answer. But then she thought. Bright lights? Romance?

"Paris is not like that. It is dark and dirty. Men wait in alleys to kill you or worse. Children beg in the streets. And the rich come to see and they laugh at us and hurry by. Truly, Monsieur, Paris is horrible."
As the sparkller dies, she hugs an arm across her stomach, suddenly self conscious of her rags. Red Robin doesn't seem the type to laugh at her though...