e up."

To which I replied that I was glad to be allowed to do so, and that I
should "look him up" as soon as he came home. And so, with words of
cordial good-will and a hearty shake of the hand, we parted.

Having started late in the evening, I arrived in Paris between four and
five o'clock on a bright midsummer Sunday morning. I was not long
delayed by the customs officers, for I carried but a scant supply of
luggage. Having left this at an hotel, I wandered about till it should
be time for breakfast. After breakfast I meant to dress and call upon
Dr. Cheron.

The morning air was clear and cool. The sun shone brilliantly, and was
reflected back with dazzling vividness from long vistas of high white
houses, innumerable windows, and gilded balconies. Theatres, shops,
cafes, and hotels not yet opened, lined the great thoroughfares.
Triumphal arches, columns, parks, palaces, and churches succeeded one
another in apparently endless succession. I passed a lofty pillar
crowned with a conqueror's statue--a palace tragic in history--a modern
Parthenon surrounded by columns, peopled with sculptured friezes, and
approached by a flight of steps extending the whole width of the
building. I went in, for the doors had just been opened, and a
white-haired Sacristan was preparing the seats for matin service. There
were acolytes decorating the altar with fresh flowers, and early
devotees on their knees before the shrine of the Madonna. The gilded
ornaments, the tapers winking in the morning light, the statues, the
paintings, the faint clinging odors of incense, the hushed atmosphere,
the devotional silence, the marble angels kneeling round the altar, all
united to increase my dream of delight. I gazed and gazed again;
wandered round and round; and at last, worn out with excitement and
fatigue, sank into a chair in a distant corner of the Church, and fell
into a heavy sleep. How long it lasted I know not; but the voices of the
choristers and the deep tones of the organ mingled with my dreams. When
I awoke the last worshippers were departing, the music had died into
silence, the wax-lights were being extinguished, and the service
was ended.

Again I went out into the streets; but all was changed. Where there had
been the silence of early morning there was now the confusion of a great
city. Where there had been closed shutters and deserted thoroughfares,
there was the bustle of life, gayety, business, and pleasure. The shops
blazed w