way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you,
and here I am."

"How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are you staying?"

"Very well--last night--at the Chauvain. I called at your hotel, but
you were out."

"I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get in and we can
talk at our ease. I was going for a drive and longing for company.
Flo's saving up for tonight."

"What happens then, a ball?"

"A Christmas party at our hotel. There are many Americans there, and
they give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us, of course? Aunt
will be charmed."

"Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and folding his
arms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred to drive, for her
parasol whip and blue reins over the white ponies' backs afforded her
infinite satisfaction.

"I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to Castle Hill.
The view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. Have you ever
been there?"

"Often, years ago, but I don't mind having a look at it."

"Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you, your
grandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin."

"Yes, I spent a month there and then joined him in Paris, where he has
settled for the winter. He has friends there and finds plenty to amuse
him, so I go and come, and we get on capitally."

"That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something in
Laurie's manner, though she couldn't tell what.

"Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still, so we each
suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I am often with him, and he
enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that someone is glad to see
me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, isn't it?" he
added, with a look of disgust as they drove along the boulevard to the
Place Napoleon in the old city.

"The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the hills are
delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streets are my
delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass. It's
going to the Church of St. John."

While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under their
canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and some
brotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felt
a new sort of shyness steal over her, for he was changed, and she could
not find the merry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man beside
her. He was ha