almost without volition, his footsteps turned toward
the river--that river which has so closely girdled Paris through all her
varied life. Smooth and pale, it slipped secretly past its quays as Max
approached, indifferent to the tragedies it concealed, as it was
indifferent to the ardent life that ebbed and flowed across its many
bridges. On its breast, the small, dark craft of the city nestled
lazily; to right and left along its banks, the sun struck glints of gold
and bronze from spire and monument; while, close against its sides, on
the very parapet of its quays, there was in progress that quaint book
traffic that strikes so intimate a note in the life of the quarter.

It is a charming thought that in the heart of Paris--Paris, the
pleasure city--there is time and space for the vender of old books to
set out his wares, to lay them open to the kindly sky, to tempt the
studious and idle alike to pause and dally and lose themselves in that
most fascinating of all pursuits--- the search for the treasure that is
never found. Max paused beside this row of tattered bookstalls, and
quivered to the stab of a new pain. Scores of happy mornings he had
wandered with Blake in this vicarious garden of delight, flitting from
the books to the curio shops across the roadway, from the curios back
again to the books, while Blake talked with his easy friendliness to the
odd beings who bartered in this open market.

It was pain inexpressible--it was loneliness made palpable--to stand by
the tressel stalls and allow his eyes to rest upon the familiar
merchandise; and for the third time in that black morning he fled from
his own shadow--fled onward into the darker, older Paris--the Paris of
tradition, where the church of Notre Dame frowns, silently scornful of
those who disturb its peace.

As he approached the great building, its sombre impressiveness fell upon
his troubled spirit mercifully as its shadow fell across the blinding
sunlight. He paused in the wide space that fronts the heavy doors, and
caught his breath as the fugitive of old might have caught breath at
sight of sanctuary.

Here was a place of shade and magnitude--- a place untouched by memory!

Blindly he moved toward the door, entered the church, walked up the
aisle. Few sight-seers disturbed the sense of peace, for outside it was
high noon and Paris was engrossed in the serious business of _dejeuner_;
no service was in progress; all was still, all dim save where a tap