e hastened
on, and on, and on! I have a faint recollection of green trees, of
stately houses, of an immense fountain swaying its white arms in the
distance--mirage-like, for we never approached it; of the sun pouring
its fierce rays upon us as we toiled on, with our wraps and satchels
turning to lead in our arms.

We reached the corner at last. There was no omnibus; no hotel in sight;
only the meeting of half a dozen narrow, crooked streets, crowded with
carriages, and alive with humanity. All settled purpose left us then;
our wits, never very firmly attached, followed. We became completely
demoralized.

"Suppose you inquire," suggested Mrs. K., after a period of inaction,
during which we were pushed, and jostled, and trampled under foot by the
crowd.

If I possessed one capability above another, it was that of asking
questions, especially in a strange language. Upon this corner where we
were standing, rose an imposing building, in the open doorway of which
stood a portly gentleman, with a countenance like the setting sun, in
glow and warmth. A heavy mane flowed over his shoulders. Evidently this
was the first of the roaring lions! Taking our lives in our hands, we
approached him.

"Do you speak English?" I ventured.

"_Nein_," was his reply, with a shrug of the leonine shoulders.

I drew a long breath and began again.

"_Parlez-vous Francais?_"

His reply to this was as singular as unprecedented. He turned his back
and disappeared up the wide stairs in the rear.

"This _may_ be foreign politeness," I was beginning, doubtfully, when he
reappeared, accompanied by an intensified counterpart of himself. The
setting sun in the face of this man gave promise of a scorching day.

"_Parlez-vous Francais, monsieur?_" I began again, when we had bowed and
"_bon-jour_"-ed for some time.

"_Oui, oui, mademoiselle._"

Here was an unexpected dilemma. A terrible pause ensued. Then, with an
effort which in some minds would have produced a poem at least, I
attempted to make known the object of our quest. I cannot begin to tell
of the facial contortions which accompanied this sentence, nor of the
ineffable peace which followed its conclusion. It made no manner of
difference that his reply was a jargon of unintelligible sounds. Virtue
is its own reward. One sentence alone I caught, as the indistinguishable
tones flew by. We were to take the first street, and then turn to the
right.

"What did he say?" asked Mrs. K., when