urchases in the shops along Rue de Rivoli and at the
Bon Marche, the great department store which Lucy declared they could
equal in Kansas City. They gazed for hours in the Louvre Art Gallery,
coming back time and again to look once more at some picture. The Venus
de Milo had a fascination about it which drew them into the long
gallery, where at the extreme end, the classic marble figure stands
alone.

They rode on the Seine, wondering at its clear waters. They walked about
the open squares and gardens all of them of historic significance. They
promenaded, very quietly, it is true, along the Champs Elysees. They
lingered about the Petit Palais, one of the most beautiful of Paris
buildings because of its newness, its clean, chaste finish, and the
artistic combination of marble, pictures, and flowers. Was it any wonder
that amid all this interesting beauty Chester's and Lucy's eyes and
hands frequently met to express what words failed to do?

The four sight-seers were at Napoleon's Tomb, admiring the wonderful
light effect.

"Every time I visit this place," said Uncle Gilbert, "I like to read a
summary of Napoleon's career which I found and clipped. Would you like
to hear it?"

The others said they would, so Uncle Gilbert read:

"Egyptian sands and Russian snows alike invaded; a revolution quelled,
an empire created; his own brethren seated on thrones of vassal
kingdoms; a complete code of jurisprudence formed for France from the
wrecks of mediaeval misrule; the most profound strategist of the ages;
denounced by nations as the 'disturber of the peace of the world;'
violating the marriage law of God and man; himself a dwarf in height,
and lowering the physical stature of a generation of his countrymen
through the frightful carnage of wars undertaken largely for his
personal aggrandizement; succumbing in the moment of final victory to
insidious disease; twice expatriated, dying in exile across the seas,
after twenty years; in life, the idol of a race and the detestation of
the rest of the continent; and now, a handful of dust, his spirit in the
presence of its Maker.'"

This reading furnished a text for the minister, who talked rather more
freely than he had recently done. Notre Dame lay in their route that
afternoon, so naturally enough, they went in, Uncle Gilbert remarking
that this was a fit place for the minister to conclude his sermon.

"What a dark, musty place," said Lucy.

"It fits in very well with their