though in perfect taste, who passed near him, leaning
on the arm of a gentleman. The only thing that he noticed about this
gentleman was that he wore eye-glasses.

Now Burwell had never posed as a captivator of the fair sex, and could
scarcely credit his eyes when the lady left the side of her escort and,
turning back as if she had forgotten something, passed close by him, and
deftly placed a card on his table. The card bore some French words
written in purple ink, but, not knowing that language, he was unable to
make out their meaning. The lady paid no further heed to him, but,
rejoining the gentleman with the eye-glasses, swept out of the place
with the grace and dignity of a princess. Burwell remained staring at
the card.

Needless to say, he thought no more of the performance or of the other
attractions about him. Everything seemed flat and tawdry compared with
the radiant vision that had appeared and disappeared so mysteriously.
His one desire now was to discover the meaning of the words written on
the card.

Calling a fiacre, he drove to the Hotel Continental, where he was
staying. Proceeding directly to the office and taking the manager aside,
Burwell asked if he would be kind enough to translate a few words of
French into English. There were no more than twenty words in all.

"Why, certainly," said the manager, with French politeness, and cast his
eyes over the card. As he read, his face grew rigid with astonishment,
and, looking at his questioner sharply, he exclaimed: "Where did you get
this, monsieur?"

Burwell started to explain, but was interrupted by: "That will do, that
will do. You must leave the hotel."

"What do you mean?" asked the man from New York, in amazement.

"You must leave the hotel now--to-night--without fail," commanded the
manager excitedly.

Now it was Burwell's turn to grow angry, and he declared heatedly that
if he wasn't wanted in this hotel there were plenty of others in Paris
where he would be welcome. And, with an assumption of dignity, but
piqued at heart, he settled his bill, sent for his belongings, and drove
up the Rue de la Paix to the Hotel Bellevue, where he spent the night.

The next morning he met the proprietor, who seemed to be a good fellow,
and, being inclined now to view the incident of the previous evening
from its ridiculous side, Burwell explained what had befallen him, and
was pleased to find a sympathetic listener.

"Why, the man was a fool," declared t