then, "But you won't be quite lonely, little lady, for a good many
Americans go to the Hotel Saint Ange. And for such a funny reason--"

"What reason?"

"It was there that Edgar Allan Poe stayed when he was in Paris."

Their carriage was now engaged in threading narrow, shadowed thoroughfares
which wound through what might have been a city of the dead. From midnight
till cock-crow old-world Paris sleeps, and the windows of the high houses
on either side of the deserted streets through which they were now driving
were all closely shuttered.

"Here we have the ceremonious, the well-bred, the tactful Paris of other
days," exclaimed Dampier whimsically. "This Paris understands without any
words that what we now want is to be quiet, and by ourselves, little girl!"

A gas lamp, burning feebly in a corner wine shop, lit up his exultant face
for a flashing moment.

"You don't look well, Jack," Nancy said suddenly. "It was awfully hot in
Lyons this morning--"

"We stayed just a thought too long in that carpet warehouse," he said
gaily,--"And then--and then that prayer carpet, which might have belonged
to Ali Baba of Ispahan, has made me feel ill with envy ever since! But joy!
Here we are at last!"

After emerging into a square of which one side was formed by an old Gothic
church, they had engaged in a dark and narrow street the further end of