sort, then, with the instinct of a man for
whom the Latin Quarter had once been a refuge and a home, he started
across the Boulevard, his arm clasping hers.

All the housetops were glittering with the sun as they passed the
ranks of the Municipal cavalry.

A young officer looked down mischievously as they traversed the
Boulevard--the only moving objects in that vast and still
perspective.

"_Mon Dieu!_" he murmured. "A night like that is something to remember
in the winter of old age!"

Neeland heard him. The gay, bantering, irresponsible Gallic wit awoke
him to himself; the rising sun, tipping the city's spires with fire,
seemed to relight a little, long-forgotten flame within him. His
sombre features cleared; he said confidently to the girl beside him:

"Don't worry; we'll get you out of it somehow or other. It's been a
rather frightful dream, Scheherazade, nothing worse----"

Her arm suddenly tightened against his and he turned to look at the
shattered Cafe des Bulgars which they were passing, where two
policemen stood looking at a cat which was picking its way over the
mass of debris, mewing dismally.

One of the policemen, noticing them, smiled sympathetically at their
battered appearance.

"Would you like to have a cat for your lively _menage_?" he said,
pointing to the melancholy animal which Neeland recognised as the
dignified property of the Cercle Extranationale.

The other policeman, more suspicious, eyed Ilse Dumont closely as she
knelt impulsively and picked up the homeless cat.

"Where are you going in such a state?" he asked, moving over the heaps
of splintered glass toward her.

"Back to the Latin Quarter," said Neeland, so cheerfully that
suspicion vanished and a faint grin replaced the official frown.

"_Allons, mes enfants_," he muttered. "_Faut pas s'attrouper dans la
rue_. Also you both are a scandal. _Allons! Filez! Houp!_ The sun is
up already!"

They went out across the rue Royale toward the Place de la Concorde,
which spread away before them in deserted immensity and beauty.

There were no taxicabs in sight. Ilse, carrying the cat in her arms,
moved beside Neeland through the deathly stillness of the city, as
though she were walking in a dream. Everywhere in the pale blue sky
above them steeple and dome glittered with the sun; there were no
sounds from _quai_ or river; no breeze stirred the trees; nothing
moved on esplanade or bridge; the pale blue August sky grew bluer; the