onference, and along the river bank, outside of
it, were the trees of Cours-la-Reine, the favourite promenade of the
fashionable world, which was thronged of an afternoon with gay and
luxurious equipages. The two banks, which we have thus hastily sketched,
framed in the most animated scene imaginable; the river being covered
with boats of all sorts and descriptions, coming and going, crossing and
recrossing, while at the quay, beside the Louvre, lay the royal barges,
rich with carving and gilding, and gay with bright-coloured awnings, and
near at hand rose the historic towers of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois.

After gazing silently for a long time at this splendid view, de Sigognac
turned away reluctantly at his companion's instance, and joined the
little crowd already gathered round the "Samaritan," waiting to see the
bronze figure surmounting the odd little hydraulic edifice strike the
hour with his hammer on the bell of the clock. Meanwhile they examined
the gilt bronze statue of Christ, standing beside the Samaritan, who was
leaning on the curb of the well, the astronomic dial with its zodiac,
the grotesque stone mask pouring out the water drawn up from the river
below, the stout figure of Hercules supporting the whole thing, and
the hollow statue, perched on the topmost pinnacle, that served as a
weathercock, like the Fortune on the Dogana at Venice and the Giralda
at Seville. As the hands on the clock-face at last pointed to ten and
twelve respectively, the little chime of bells struck up a merry tune,
while the bronze man with the hammer raised his ponderous arm and
deliberately struck ten mighty blows, to the great delight of the
spectators. This curious and ingenious piece of mechanism, which had
been cunningly devised by one Lintlaer, a Fleming, highly amused and
interested de Sigognac, to whom everything of the kind was absolutely
new and surprising.

"Now," said Herode, "we will glance at the view from the other side of
the bridge, though it is not so magnificent as the one you have already
seen, and is very much shut in by the buildings on the Pont au Change
yonder. However, there is the tower of Saint Jacques, the spire of Saint
Mederic, and others too numerous to mention; and that is the Sainte
Chapelle--a marvel of beauty, so celebrated, you know, for its treasures
and relics. All the houses in that direction are new and handsome, as
you see; when I was a boy I used to play at hop-scotch where they now
stan