ut as they only played upon Sundays and fete
days, we did not see them. Their Sunday gowns of mist and flowing water
were laid aside, and naked and bare enough they were this day. The wide
basins, the lions and dolphins, were here, with the marble nymphs, and
fauns and satyrs, that make a shower-bath spectacle of themselves upon
gala days. When the hour refused to strike, and we grew hungry,--as one
will among the rarest and most wonderful things,--we left the park, to
find the crooked little town that sits in the dust always at the feet of
palaces. Its narrow streets ran close up to the gates, and would have
run in had they not been shut. Here in the low, smoke-stained room of an
inn that was only a wine-shop, we spent the time of waiting,--our elbows
upon the round, dark table, which, with the dirt and wooden chairs, made
up its only furnishing,--sipping the sour wine, cutting slices from the
long, melancholy stick of bread, all dust and ashes, and nibbling the
cheese that might have vied with Samson for strength. The diamond-paned
window was flung wide open, for the air seemed soiled and stained, like
the floor. Just across the narrow, empty street, an old house elbowed
our inn. The eaves of its thatched roof were tufted with moss, out from
which rose a mass of delicate pink blossoms--pretty innocents, fairly
blushing for shame of their surroundings. Through the long passage-way
came the sound of high-pitched voices--of a strange jargon from the
room opening upon the street, where a heavy-eyed maid, behind a pewter
bar, served the blue-bloused workmen gathered about the little tables.

The white palace of St. Cloud, with its Corinthian columns, stood
daintily back from its gates and the low-bred town; but its long wings
had run down, like curious children, to peep out through the bars; so,
you will see, it formed three sides of a square. It had lately been
refurnished for the prince imperial. The grand _salons_ need not be
described; one is especially noted as having been the place where a baby
was once baptized, who is now ex-emperor of France. In the same room the
civil contract of marriage between Napoleon I. and Marie Louise was
celebrated. A few elegant but less spacious rooms were interesting from
having been the private apartments of the poor queens and empresses who
have shared the throne of France. Gorgeous they were in tapestry and
gilding, filled with a gaping crowd of visitors, and echoing to the
voice of