going
upstairs."

She hesitated.

"Many thanks," she said, reluctantly, "but...."

"But Madame Bouisse is busy," I urged, "and the _pot au feu_ will spoil
if she leaves it on the fire."

The fat _concierge_ nodded, and patted me on the shoulder.

"Let him carry the parcel, Mam'selle Hortense," she chuckled. "Let him
carry it. M'sieur is your neighbor, and neighbors should be neighborly.
Besides," she added, in an audible aside, "he is a _bon garcon_--an
Englishman--and a book-student like yourself."

The young lady bent her head, civilly, but proudly. Compelled, as it
seemed, to accept my help, she evidently wished to show me that I must
nevertheless put forward no claim to further intercourse--not even on
the plea of neighborhood. I understood her, and taking up the parcel,
followed her in silence to her door on the third story. Here she paused
and thanked me.

"Pray let me carry it in for you," I said.

Again she hesitated; but only for an instant. Too well-bred not to see
that a refusal would now be a discourtesy, she unlocked the door, and
held it open.

The first room was an ante-chamber; the second a _salon_ somewhat larger
than my own, with a door to the right, leading into what I supposed
would be her bedroom. At a glance, I took in all the details of her
home. There was her writing-table laden with books and papers, her desk,
and her pile of manuscripts. At one end of the room stood a piano doing
duty as a side-board, and looking as if it were seldom opened. Some
water-color drawings were pinned against the walls, and a well-filled
bookcase stood in a recess beside the fireplace. Nothing escaped me
--not even the shaded reading-lamp, nor the plain ebony time-piece, nor
the bronze Apollo on the bracket above the piano, nor the sword over the
mantelpiece, which seemed a strange ornament in the study of a gentle
lady. Besides all this, there were books everywhere, heaped upon the
tables, ranged on shelves, piled in corners, and scattered hither and
thither in most admired disorder. It was, however, the only
disorder there.

I longed to linger, but dared not. Having laid the parcel down upon the
nearest chair, there was nothing left for me to do but to take my leave.
Mademoiselle Dufresnoy still kept her hand upon the door.

"Accept my best thanks, sir," she said in English, with a pretty foreign
accent, that seemed to give new music to the dear familiar tongue.

"You have nothing to thank me for,