,
I resolved to question the concierge of the hotel. Concierges, I
knew, were the ever present helps of travelers in trouble. They knew
everything, spoke all languages, and expected to be asked all sorts of
unreasonable questions.

The concierge at my hotel was a transcendant specimen of his talented
class. His name and title was Monsieur Louis--at least that is what I
had heard the other guests call him. And the questions which he had been
called upon to answer, in my hearing, ranged in subject from the hour of
closing the Luxemburg galleries to that of opening the Bal Tabarin, with
various interruptions during which he settled squabbles over cab fares,
took orders for theater and opera tickets, and explained why fruit at
the tables of the Cafe des Ambassadeurs was so very expensive.

Monsieur Louis received me politely, listened, with every appearance of
interest, to my tale of a young lady, a relative, who was singing at one
of the Paris churches and whose name was Juno or Junotte, but, when I
had finished, reluctantly shook his head. There were many, many churches
in Paris--yes, and, at some of them, young ladies sang; but these were,
for the most part, the Protestant churches. At the larger churches, the
Catholic churches, most of the singers were men or boys. He could recall
none where a lady of that name sang. Monsieur had not been told the name
of the church?

"The person who told me referred to it as an abbey," I said.

Louis raised his shoulders. "I am sorry, Monsieur," he said, "but there
is no abbey, where ladies sing, in Paris. It is, alas, regrettable, but
it is so."

He announced it as he might have broken to me the news of the death of
a friend. Incidentally, having heard a few sentences of my French, he
spoke in English, very good English.

"I will, however, make inquiries, Monsieur," he went on. "Possibly I may
discover something which will be of help to Monsieur in his difficulty."
In the meantime there was to be a parade of troops at the Champ de
Mars at four, and the evening performance at the Folies Bergeres was
unusually good and English and American gentlemen always enjoyed it. It
would give him pleasure to book a place for me.

I thanked him but I declined the offer, so far as the Folies were
concerned. I did ask him, however, to give me the name of a few churches
at which ladies sang. This he did and I set out to find them, in a cab
which whizzed through the Paris streets as if the driv