faith that the man would keep his tongue still. A Frenchman
must talk.

After a light breakfast Paul went out into the fresh morning air and
began his search. In turn he visited the _Hotel de la Poste_, _le
Grand_, _de la Cloche_, and the rest of them, wandering around the
cobbled streets of the sleepy village, and strolling through the
market-place, gay with the green and red and russet of its vegetables,
the blue and crimson of the umbrellas over the stalls. Then, in the
unclouded sunshine, he walked around the ancient ramparts, from which
point of vantage he looked down upon wide stretches of sunlit country,
dotted here and there with vineyards.

It cost him a pretty sum to purchase the confidence of half-suspicious
porters, but by the time he had worked through the list with which the
friendly servitor had provided him he had come to the conclusion that
Mademoiselle Vseslavitch was, of a certainty, not in one of these
hostelries.

Was she still in Langres? The doubt troubled Paul greatly.

All the time, as he walked on through the narrow streets, Paul's eyes
sought the object of his quest in vain. Apparently he was the only
foreigner in the town. It was nearly twelve as he turned into the
_Promenade de la Blanche Fontaine_, a fine wide avenue of chestnut
trees which recalled to Paul the Broad Walk at Oxford, and being the
only pedestrian abroad at that hour, he said a few swear-words to
himself by way of consolation.

Clearly, this search for the lady might prove a case for Sherlock
Holmes, while Paul's own detective ability, he admitted, was more of
the Dr. Watson order.

CHAPTER VIII

It was after twelve when Paul sought the shade of the _Hotel de
l'Europe_ again. There the few sounds that pierced the mid-day
stillness were chiefly those that penetrated from the kitchen, where
_Monsieur le Cusinier_ and his assistants were busily engaged in the
preparation of _dejeuner_. And it was not long before Paul sat down to
a delightful meal, served in a vine-framed window. He was alone in the
room, and feeling the need of encouragement he invited the genial
landlord to share a bottle of Burgundy with him.

The two men sat there, toasting each other more and more gaily as the
red nectar fell lower in the long bottle, until finally, perceiving
his host to be in a confidential mood, Paul questioned him about
tourist travel.

"Ah! Monsieur! May the _bon Dieu_ bless you! You are the first to
visit us this