I scarcely thought you cared for mademoiselle; and never dreamed of
your proposing to marry her."

"Nor I, till about a week ago. However, my plans require money, and
would not be encumbered by my having a wife. I see nothing better at
the moment, and so my mind is soon made up. But here we are; this is our
resting-place."

The "Moisson d'Or," although not known to me, was then the most
celebrated place for dining in Paris. The habits of the house--for there
was no _table d'hote_--required that everything should be ordered
beforehand, and the parties all dined separately. The expensive habits
and extravagant prices secured its frequenters from meeting the class
who usually dined at restaurants; and this gave it a vogue among the
wealthy and titled, whose equipages now thronged the street, and filled
the _porte cochere_. I had but time to recognize the face of one of the
marshals and a minister of state, as we pushed our way through the
court, and entered a small pavilion beyond it.

"I'll join you in an instant," said Duchesne, as he left the room
hastily after the waiter. In a couple of minutes he was back again.
"Come along; it's all right," said he. "I wish to show you a corner of
the old house that only the privileged ever see, and we are fortunate in
finding it unoccupied."

We recrossed the court, and mounted a large oak stair to a corridor,
which conducted us, by three sides of a quadrangle, to a smaller stair,
nearly perpendicular. At the top of this, a strong door, barred and
padlocked, stood, which, being opened, led into a large and lofty
_salon_, opening by three spacious windows on a terrace that formed
the roof of the building. Some citron and orange trees were disposed
tastefully along this, and filled the room with their fragrance.

"Here, Antoine; let us be served here," said Duchesne to the waiter;
"I have already given orders about the dinner. And now, Burke, come out
here. What think you of that view?"

Scarcely had I set foot on the terrace, when I started back in mingled
admiration and amazement. Beneath us lay the great city, in the mellow
light of an evening in September. Close--so close as actually to
startle--was the large dome of the Invalides shining like a ball of
molten gold, the great courtyard in front dotted with figures; beyond,
again, was the Seine, the surface flashing and flickering in the
sunlight,--I traced it along to the Pont Neuf; and then my eye rested on
Notre-Dame, wh