new. He wondered how much the champagne was responsible for it.

"Shall you go back to New York?" he asked.

"Oh, I suppose so," replied Tod carelessly. "I ought to go on general
principles. I only came here on a brief visit."

"I sail to-morrow on the _Adriatic_," said the lawyer. "Come with me."

The young man shook his head.

"That's out of the question. I still have some business to attend to. I
may go Saturday on the _Touraine_."

"Oh, then you'll be right behind me. I'll let them know you're on the
way home."

"Tell Jimmy not to have all the money spent before I get there," grinned
Tod.

The lawyer made a move towards the door.

"Well-- I must be off. It's late, and I've a lot to attend to. I have to
go to the Palais-Royal first. Are you going my way?"

A moment later they were on the avenue hailing a cab. The _cocher_,
aroused by the promise of an extra _pourboire_, drove off briskly in the
direction of the Rue de Rivoli, and soon they were rolling smoothly
along that street of wonderful arcades. Passing the gilded gates of the
Tuileries gardens they soon came abreast of the Louvre. Tod glanced up
at the gloomy, time-discolored walls.

"That's one place I must take in before I leave Paris. Not that I know
one picture from another. Ever been there?"

Mr. Cooley gave a snort of disapproval.

"Naw," he grunted. "I've no time to spend in sepulchres. I prefer the
Bal Tabarin myself."

CHAPTER III.

Among the extraordinary attractions which makes Paris the show place of
Europe, the historic Palace of the Louvre possesses, curiously enough,
the least drawing power of any. Its popularity, from the tourist
viewpoint, at least, certainly falls far short of that enjoyed by the
Moulin Rouge. In other words, the Louvre, vast repository as it is of
the art wealth of the world, would seem to contain little attraction for
the multitude. The annual picture expositions in the Champs Elysees are
always crowded to suffocation, especially on free days, showing that the
common people are not wholly indifferent to art, but for some reason
which has never been satisfactorily explained, the celebrated museum,
the one-time residence of the Kings of France, with all its historic
memories, its priceless pictures and endless rooms filled with
sculptures and antiquities is treated with indifference and neglect. The
_blase_ Parisian takes no interest in it, because it is at his very
door. If he loves pictures, he p