till flying, for these jolly Parisians are always
loth to take in their bunting. It was, indeed, a gay world in which I
moved that morning.

The Hotel Clericy I found at the end of the Rue des Palmiers, which
short street the great house closed. Indeed, the Rue des Palmiers was
but an avenue of houses terminated by the gloomy abode of the
Clericys. The house was built behind a high stone wall broken only by
a railed doorway.

I rang the bell and heard its tinkle far away within the dwelling. A
covered way led from the street to the house, and I followed on the
heels of the servant, a smart young Parisian, looking curiously at the
little garden which in London would have been forlorn and smutty. Here
in Paris bright flowers bloomed healthily and a little fountain
plashed with that restful monotony which ever suggests the patios of
Spain.

The young man was one of those modern servants who know their
business.

"Monsieur's name?" he said, sharply.

"Howard."

We were within the dimly lighted hall, with its scent of old carpets
and rusting armour, and he led the way upstairs. He threw open the
drawing-room door and mentioned my name in his short, well-trained
way. There was but one person in the large room, and she did not hear
the man's voice; for she was laughing herself, and was at that moment
chasing a small dog around the room. The little animal, which entered
gaily into the sport, was worrying a dainty handkerchief in his teeth,
and so engaged was he in this destructive purpose that he ran straight
into my hands. I rescued the bedraggled piece of cambric and stood
upright to find mademoiselle standing before me with mirth and a
certain dignified self-possession in her eyes.

[Illustration: "THANK YOU, MONSIEUR," SHE SAID, TAKING THE
HANDKERCHIEF FROM MY HAND.]

"Thank you, Monsieur," she said, taking the handkerchief from my hand.
It was evident that she did not recognise me as the stranger who had
accosted her father on the previous day.

I explained my business in as few words as possible.

"The servant," I added, "made a mistake in bringing me to this room. I
did not mean to trouble Mademoiselle; my business is with M. de
Clericy. I am applying for the post of secretary."

She looked at me with a quick surprise, and her eyes lighted on my
clothes with some significance, which made me think that perhaps
Monsieur de Clericy gave less even than two hundred pounds a year to
his amanuensis.

"Ah!" she