ame la Princesse?"

"A sitting-room, a bedroom and a bath for myself, and a room each for my
maid, Suzanne, and my faithful retainer, her father, Antoine Picard."

"You shall have all that you wish and more," said John, and then
dropping into his usual tone he said: "I think we'd better look over the
rooms together. It's barely possible some looter may be prowling in the
house. Of course, the electric power is cut off, but Suzanne will know
where to find candles, and we can provide for all the light we need."

He thought of light, because the heavy storm outside kept the hotel in
shadow, and he knew that when night came, depression and gloom would
settle upon them, unless they found some way to dispel the darkness.
Despite the silence of the hotel they had a sense of comfort. They had
been oppressed in the cathedral by its majesty and religious gloom, but
this was the haunt of men and women who used to come in cheerfully from
the day's business and who laughed and talked in rooms and on the
stairways.

John's imaginative mind was alive at once. He beheld pleasant specters
all about him. Chastel was off the great highways, but many quiet
tourists must have come here. The beautiful cathedral, the picturesque
situation of the little town above the little river and the very ancient
Gothic buildings must have been an attraction to the knowing. He could
shut his eyes and see them now, many of them his own countrymen and
countrywomen, walking in the halls after a day of sightseeing, comparing
notes, or looking through the windows down at the little river that
foamed below. Yes, Chastel had been a pleasant town and one could pass
many days in right company in its Hotel de l'Europe.

"What are you smiling at, Mr. John?" asked Julie.

It was the first time she had called him "Mr. John," the equivalent for
his "Miss Julie," and he liked it. But he hid his pleasure and
apparently took no notice of it.

"I was seeing our hotel in times of peace," he said. "It was a sort of
mental transference, I suppose, but the place looked good to me. It was
crowded with people, many of whom were from America, and some of whom I
would like to know. I've never had a horror of tourists--in fact I think
the horror of them that most people pretend to feel is a sort of
affectation, a false attempt at superiority--and I always liked, when I
was a sightseer myself, to come back to the hotel in the evening and
meet the cheerful crowd full of chatte