Tuileries pass up and
down as many as seven times a day. I remember one occasion when they
went as high as nine. What do you see now? It's no use talking, the
style's all gone. Napoleon knew what the French people want, and
there'll be a dark cloud over Paris, our Paris, till they get the Empire
back again."

Among Mrs. Luce's visitors on Sunday afternoons was a young man with
whom Isabel had had a good deal of conversation and whom she found
full of valuable knowledge. Mr. Edward Rosier--Ned Rosier as he was
called--was native to New York and had been brought up in Paris, living
there under the eye of his father who, as it happened, had been an early
and intimate friend of the late Mr. Archer. Edward Rosier remembered
Isabel as a little girl; it had been his father who came to the rescue
of the small Archers at the inn at Neufchatel (he was travelling that
way with the boy and had stopped at the hotel by chance), after their
bonne had gone off with the Russian prince and when Mr. Archer's
whereabouts remained for some days a mystery. Isabel remembered
perfectly the neat little male child whose hair smelt of a delicious
cosmetic and who had a bonne all his own, warranted to lose sight of him
under no provocation. Isabel took a walk with the pair beside the lake
and thought little Edward as pretty as an angel--a comparison by no
means conventional in her mind, for she had a very definite conception
of a type of features which she supposed to be angelic and which her
new friend perfectly illustrated. A small pink face surmounted by a blue
velvet bonnet and set off by a stiff embroidered collar had become the
countenance of her childish dreams; and she had firmly believed for some
time afterwards that the heavenly hosts conversed among themselves in
a queer little dialect of French-English, expressing the properest
sentiments, as when Edward told her that he was "defended" by his bonne
to go near the edge of the lake, and that one must always obey to one's
bonne. Ned Rosier's English had improved; at least it exhibited in a
less degree the French variation. His father was dead and his bonne
dismissed, but the young man still conformed to the spirit of their
teaching--he never went to the edge of the lake. There was still
something agreeable to the nostrils about him and something not
offensive to nobler organs. He was a very gentle and gracious youth,
with what are called cultivated tastes--an acquaintance with old china,