shops figured
for a moment in pomp before the altar, and then monuments must be erected
to their memory. But it was not so with the poor. Peter, in a glow of
warmth, considered that he was in truth one of them. And Jesus had
had compassion on the multitude, he remembered. The text recalled him,
and he frowned to himself.

He knocked out his pipe, and set out leisurely to find luncheon. The
famous book-boxes held him, and he bought a print or two. In a restaurant
near the Chatelet he got _dejeuner_, and then, remembering Julie, bought
and wrote a picture-postcard, and took a taxi for the Bois. He was
driven about for an hour or more, and watched the people lured out by the
sun, watched the troops of all the armies, watched an aeroplane swing
high over the trees and soar off towards Versailles. He discharged his
car at the Arc de Triomphe, and set about deciphering the carven
pictures. Then, he walked up the great Avenue, made his way to the
Place de la Republique, wandered through the gardens of the Louvre, and,
as dusk fell, found himself in the Avenue de l'Opera. It was very gay. He
had a bock at a little marble table, and courteously declined the
invitations of a lady of considerable age painted to look young. He at
first simply refused, and finally cursed into silence, a weedy, flash
youth who offered to show him the sights of the city in an apparently
ascending scale till he reached the final lure of a _cancan_, and he
dined greatly at a palace of a restaurant. Then, tired, he did not know
what to do.

A girl passing, smiled at him, and he smiled back. She came and sat down.
He looked bored, she told him, which was a thing one should not be in
Paris, and she offered to assist him to get rid of the plague.

"What do you suggest?" he demanded.

She shrugged her shoulders--anything that he pleased.

"But I don't know what I want," he objected.

"Ah, well, I have a flat near," she said--"a charming flat. We need not
be bored there."

Peter demurred. He had to catch the midnight train. She made a little
gesture; there was plenty of time.

He regarded her attentively. "See, mademoiselle," he said, "I do not want
that. But I am alone and I want company. Will you not stroll about Paris
with me for an hour or two, and talk?"

She smiled. Monsieur was unreasonable. She had her time to consider; she
could not waste it.

Peter took his case from his pocket and selected a note, folded it, and
handed it to her, witho