ngy floor in a surprising beauty of panelled
dado and fine old banister.

Max's eyes rested upon this staircase: in renewed excitement he hurried
down the hall and, regardless of the consequence, beat a quick tattoo
with his knuckles upon the glass door.

Silence greeted his imperative summons, and as he waited, listening
intently, he became aware of the monotonous hum of a sewing-machine
coming through a closed door upon his left.

The knowledge of a human presence emboldened him; again he knocked, this
time more sharply, more persistently. Again inattention; then, as he
lifted his hand for the third time, the hum of the machine ceased
abruptly, the door opened, and he turned to confront a small woman with
wispy hair and untidy clothes, whose bodice was adorned with
innumerable pins, and at whose side hung a pair of scissors large as
shears.

"Monsieur?" Her manner was curt--the manner of one who has been
disturbed at some engrossing occupation.

Max felt rebuffed; he raised his hat and bowed with as close an
imitation as he could summon of Blake's ingratiating friendliness.

"Madame, you have an _appartement_ to let?"

"True, monsieur! An _appartement_ on the fifth floor--gas and water."
There was pride in the last words, if a grudging pride.

"Precisely! And it is a good _appartement_?"

"No better in Montmartre."

"A sufficiency of light?"

'Light?' The woman smiled in scorn. 'Was it not open to the skies--with
those two windows in front, and that balcony?'

Max's excitement kindled.

"Madame, I must see this _appartement_! May I mount now--at once?"

But the matter was no such light one. Madame shook her head. 'Ah, that
was not possible!'

'Why not?'

'Ah, well, there was the _concierge_! The _concierge_ was out.'

'But the _concierge_ would return?'

'Oh yes! It was true he would return!'

The little woman cast a wistful eye on the door of her own room.

'At what hour?'

'Ah! That was a question!'

'This morning?'

'Possibly!'

'This afternoon?'

'Possibly!'

'But not for a certainty?'

'Nothing was entirely certain.'

Anger broke through Max's disappointment. Without a word he turned on
his heel and strode down the hall with the air of an offended prince.

The woman watched him with an expressionless face until he reached the
door, then something--perhaps his youth, perhaps his brave carriage,
perhaps his defiant disappointment--moved her.

"Monsieur!" she called.

He s