e side of a blue house divided by
means of pairs of buttons into eighty-five storeys, who had the face of
a poet addicted to blank verse, and who was one of the glories of the
Louvre, stepped across the pavement in one stride and assisted Henry to
alight. Henry had meant to give the cabman eighteenpence, but the occult
influence of the glorious commissionaire mysteriously compelled him,
much against his will, to make it half a crown. He hesitated whether to
await Geraldine within the Louvre or without; he was rather bashful
about entering (hitherto he had never flown higher than Sweeting's). The
commissionaire, however, attributing this indecision to Henry's
unwillingness to open doors for himself, stepped back across the
pavement in another stride, and held the portal ajar. Henry had no
alternative but to pass beneath the commissionaire's bended and
respectful head. Once within the gorgeous twilit hall of the Louvre,
Henry was set upon by two very diminutive and infantile replicas of the
commissionaire, one of whom staggered away with his overcoat, while the
other secured the remainder of the booty in the shape of his hat,
muffler, and stick, and left Henry naked. I say 'naked' purposely.
Anyone who has dreamed the familiar dream of being discovered in a state
of nudity amid a roomful of clothed and haughty strangers may, by
recalling his sensations, realize Henry's feelings as he stood alone and
unfriended there, exposed for the first time in his life in evening
dress to the vulgar gaze. Several minutes passed before Henry could
conquer the delusion that everybody was staring at him in amused
curiosity. Having conquered it, he sank sternly into a chair, and
surreptitiously felt the sovereigns in his pocket.

Soon an official bore down on him, wearing a massive silver necklet
which fell gracefully over his chest. Henry saw and trembled.

'Are you expecting someone, sir?' the man whispered in a velvety and
confidential voice, as who should say: 'Have no secrets from me. I am
discretion itself.'

'Yes,' answered Henry boldly, and he was inclined to add: 'But it's all
right, you know. I've nothing to be ashamed of.'

'Have you booked a table, sir?' the official proceeded with relentless
suavity. As he stooped towards Henry's ear his chain swung in the air
and gently clanked.

'No,' said Henry, and then hastened to assure the official: 'But I want
one.' The idea of booking tables at a restaurant struck him as a
surpr