you have just been making history." And he bowed so
deliciously that I could have cried, because I hadn't my purse with me
to give him a "guerdon"; that would have been the only word, if I had
had it. Fortunately Brown had. Something yellow glittered as it passed
from hand to hand, and the old Frenchman (so dramatic, like most of his
countrymen) bowed again and took off his hat with a flourish. If the
something hadn't been yellow, but only white, I wonder if he would have
let us make that splendid, sweeping circle round the gardens before we
plunged back into the cool gloom of the tower?

Oh, that descent! I feel breathless, just remembering it, but it was a
glorious kind of breathlessness, like you feel when you go
tobogganing--only more so. Brown took it at tremendous speed, but I
wasn't a bit afraid, for I trust him utterly as a driver. If he said he
could take me safely over Niagara Falls, and looked straight at me in a
way he has when he said it, I believe I'd go--unless, of course, you
objected!

I found myself thinking of Poe's descent of the Maelstrom, and when I
said so to Brown afterwards, it turned out that he'd read it. He had the
car perfectly in hand, and steered it to a hair's breadth. We were down
in a moment--or it seemed so; and coming out into the bright little
streets was like waking up after a strange dream. In three minutes more
we were at the door of our hotel, and I really _was_ asking myself if I
had dreamed it.

"Brown," said I, "I told you once before that you were a leather angel.
Now I believe you are a grey tweed Genie. This has been the nicest
morning of my life. But you really must tell me how much you paid that
custodian, and let me give you back the money at once."

He interrupted himself in the midst of a beaming smile to wrinkle his
eyebrows together. "It's been a nice morning for me, too, miss," said he
quite humbly; "but it will half spoil it if you won't let it stand as it
is. It was only a few francs, and as you pay me a good screw, I can well
afford it. You're always so good, that I know you'd be sorry to hurt my
feelings."

Well, of course I would; so I couldn't say any more, could I? Though
before all these motor-car wonders began it would have felt odd to take
a "treat" from one's servant.

Now, Dad, I'm getting conscience-stricken, and keep wondering with every
paragraph (especially what I call my "descriptive" paragraphs) if I'm
boring you. I won't give you our daily