ss, there'll be a
mysterious murder in a backwoods laundry--police baffled."

Eleanor contemplated the lily-foot girl, swaying about the corner into
Dupont, her little handkerchief in one hand, her proper fan in the
other.

"Poor little blossom--I wonder if she'll mourn for him? Faithful Grand
Vizier, don't tell me sad facts on my birthday night. I want only
pretty things."

"Whether she'll mourn or not won't make much difference to father--or
to the Highbinders. Je-hoshaphat--look!"

For they had turned the corner into Dupont Street, main avenue of the
Quarter. Its narrow vista came upon them at first as a smothered
flame. Innumerable paper lanterns, from scarlet globes as big as a
barrel to parti-colored cones that one might hold in his palm, blazed
everywhere, making strange combinations, incredible shades, in the
flaring Chinese signs, the bright dresses of the women. The sidewalks
quivered with life--soberly dressed coolies, making green background
for the gauds of their women, bespangled babies late out of bed that
they might gain good luck and blessing from those rites, priests in
white robes, dignitaries in long tunics, incongruous Caucasian
tourists and spectators.

A moment Eleanor drank it all in; then she addressed her Grand
Vizier.

"Inform my people, through your invaluable publication, that their
demonstration in my honor is perfect."

"It shall be done, liege lady--three column spread on the front page.
Oh, you've got to have a shoe." For a vendor was bearing down on them,
carrying a tray of pink paper shoes like valentines. "That's the
symbol of this festival--the goddess lost her shoe before she died.
How much, Charlie? Two bits two? All light! Empress, permit me to
present this souvenir of a grateful people. Miss Waddington, have a
shoe on me!"

Eleanor hung the pink trifle to the pin at her throat.

"I shall add it to the royal treasure trove," she said. It came across
her then, as one of the unrelated thoughts and fancies which were
coursing in such swarms through her mind, that Bertram Chester, though
he stuck close to her side, had been unusually silent. She drew him in
at once.

"Does it become me?" she asked.

"Everything becomes you."

"You don't say anything about _my_ shoes!" said Kate.

Now the crowd began to eddy and to whirl toward the next corner. There
rose the clang of gongs, the shrilling of a Chinese pipe playing a
mournful air in that five-toned scale Whose combina