nd adroit; he opened the dense mass like a
wedge; with patience and toil he at last bored through the
flesh-and-blood rock--so solid, hot, and suffocating--and brought us to
the fresh, freezing night.

"You are an Englishman!" said he, turning shortly on Dr. Bretton, when
we got into the street.

"An Englishman. And I speak to a countryman?" was the reply.

"Right. Be good enough to stand here two minutes, whilst I find my
carriage."

"Papa, I am not hurt," said a girlish voice; "am I with papa?"

"You are with a friend, and your father is close at hand."

"Tell him I am not hurt, except just in my shoulder. Oh, my shoulder!
They trod just here."

"Dislocation, perhaps!" muttered the Doctor: "let us hope there is no
worse injury done. Lucy, lend a hand one instant."

And I assisted while he made some arrangement of drapery and position
for the ease of his suffering burden. She suppressed a moan, and lay in
his arms quietly and patiently.

"She is very light," said Graham, "like a child!" and he asked in my
ear, "Is she a child, Lucy? Did you notice her age?"

"I am not a child--I am a person of seventeen," responded the patient,
demurely and with dignity. Then, directly after: "Tell papa to come; I
get anxious."

The carriage drove up; her father relieved Graham; but in the exchange
from one bearer to another she was hurt, and moaned again.

"My darling!" said the father, tenderly; then turning to Graham, "You
said, sir, you are a medical man?"

"I am: Dr. Bretton, of La Terrasse."

"Good. Will you step into my carriage?"

"My own carriage is here: I will seek it, and accompany you."

"Be pleased, then, to follow us." And he named his address: "The Hotel
Crecy, in the Rue Crecy."

We followed; the carriage drove fast; myself and Graham were silent.
This seemed like an adventure.

Some little time being lost in seeking our own equipage, we reached the
hotel perhaps about ten minutes after these strangers. It was an hotel
in the foreign sense: a collection of dwelling-houses, not an inn--a
vast, lofty pile, with a huge arch to its street-door, leading through
a vaulted covered way, into a square all built round.

We alighted, passed up a wide, handsome public staircase, and stopped
at Numero 2 on the second landing; the first floor comprising the abode
of I know not what "prince Russe," as Graham informed me. On ringing
the bell at a second great door, we were admitted to a suite of very
handsome