am and some little cakes?"

Harmony hesitated. In the gloom of the hall she could hardly see
this brisk young American--young, she knew by his voice, tall by his
silhouette, strong by the way he had caught her. She could not see his
face, but she liked his voice.

"Do you mean--with you?"

"I'm a doctor. I am going to fill my own prescription."

That sounded reassuring. Doctors were not as other men; they were
legitimate friends in need.

"I am sure it is not proper, but--"

"Proper! Of course it is. I shall send you a bill for professional
services. Besides, won't we be formally introduced to-night by the
landlady? Come now--to the coffee-house and the Paris edition of the
'Herald'!" But the next moment he paused and ran his hand over his chin.
"I'm pretty disreputable," he explained. "I have been in a clinic all
day, and, hang it all, I'm not shaved."

"What difference does that make?"

"My dear young lady," he explained gravely, picking up the cheese and
the tinned fish, "it makes a difference in me that I wish you to realize
before you see me in a strong light."

He rapped at the Portier's door, with the intention of leaving his
parcels there, but receiving no reply tucked them under his arm. A
moment later Harmony was in the open air, rather dazed, a bit excited,
and lovely with the color the adventure brought into her face. Her
companion walked beside her, tall, slightly stooped. She essayed a
fugitive little side-glance up at him, and meeting his eyes hastily
averted hers.

They passed a policeman, and suddenly there flashed into the girl's mind
little Scatchett's letter.

"Do be careful, Harry. If any one you do not know speaks to you, call a
policeman."

CHAPTER III

The coffee-house was warm and bright. Round its small tables were
gathered miscellaneous groups, here and there a woman, but mostly
men--uniformed officers, who made of the neighborhood coffee-house a
sort of club, where under their breath they criticized the Government
and retailed small regimental gossip; professors from the university,
still wearing under the beards of middle life the fine horizontal scars
of student days; elderly doctors from the general hospital across the
street; even a Hofrath or two, drinking beer and reading the "Fliegende
Blaetter" and "Simplicissimus"; and in an alcove round a billiard table
a group of noisy Korps students. Over all a permeating odor of coffee,
strong black coffee, made with a fig o