ts sixteenth century
belfry, where the great bell, Bayard, had hung for hundreds of years, and,
tier on tier above it, clustered in set ranks the fixed bells of the
ancient carillon.

"Some skyscraper," observed Burley, patronizing the bell-tower with a
glance.

As he spoke, they came to the inn, a very ancient hostelry built into a
remnant of the old town wall, and now a part of it. On the signboard was
painted a white doe; and that was the name of the inn.

So they trooped through the stone-arched tunnel, ushered by a lame
innkeeper; and Burley, chancing to turn his head and glance back through
the shadowy stone passage, caught a glimpse in the outer sunshine of the
girl whose dark eyes had inspired him with jocular eloquence as he rode on
his mule under the bell-tower of Sainte Lesse.

"A peach," he said to Smith. And the sight of her apparently going to his
head, he burst into French: "Tray chick! Tray, tray chick! I'm glad I've
got on this uniform and not overalls and one suspender."

"What's biting you?" inquired Smith.

"Nothing, Stick, nothing. But I believe I've seen the prettiest girl in
the world right here in this two-by-four town."

Stick glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged:

"She's ornamental, only she's got a sad on."

But Burley trudged on with his leather hold-all, muttering to himself
something about the prettiest girl in the world.

The "prettiest girl in the world" continued her way unconscious of the
encomiums of John Burley and the critique of Sticky Smith. Her way,
however, seemed to be the way of Burley and his two companions, for she
crossed the sunny street and entered the White Doe by the arched door and
tunnel-like passage.

Unlike them, however, she turned to the right in the stone corridor,
opened a low wooden door, crossed the inn parlour, ascended a short
stairway, and entered a bedroom.

Here, standing before a mirror, she unpinned her straw hat, smoothed her
dark hair, resting her eyes pensively for a few moments on her reflected
face. Then she sauntered listlessly about the little room in performance
of those trivial, aimless offices, entirely feminine, such as opening all
the drawers in her clothes-press, smoothing out various frilly objects and
fabrics, investigating a little gilded box and thoughtfully inspecting its
contents, which consisted of hair-pins. Fussing here, lingering there,
loitering by her bird-cage, where a canary cheeped its greeting and hopped
an