mit to grow upon me. There
are altogether too many O'Flaherty's in the world, masculine, feminine
and neuter.

She closed her door, after a friendly pressure of our hands, and I went
to my room to write. The ideas, however, came but slowly and, upon
arrival, were of the poorest. I, therefore, soon took my pipe, put my
feet on the window ledge and listened to a distant phonograph. At last,
came silence, a gradual extinguishing of lights in windows opposite, and
yawns from myself. I must repeat these trips, they make for sound
slumber.

On the next day I took it upon myself to go to the small house in
Brooklyn where Frances had formerly boarded. She was anxious to know if
any letters might have come for her that had not been forwarded. She had
wondered why her husband's parents had never written to announce the
dreadful news which, however, had been briefly confirmed on inquiry at
the Consulate. In the eastern section of our Greater City, which is
about as familiar to me as the wilds of Kamchatka, I promptly lost
myself. But kindly souls directed me, and I reached a dwelling that was
all boarded up and bore a sign indicating that the premises were to be
let. Thence, I went to a distant real estate office where the people
were unable to give me any indication or trace of the former tenants,
who had rented out rooms.

On my return I found Eulalie rummaging among my bureau drawers. She held
up two undergarments and bade me observe the perfection of her darning,
whereupon I assured her that she was a large, fat pearl without price.

"_Oui, Monsieur_," she assented, without understanding me in the least.
"Madame Dupont has gone to my cousin, Madame Smith. Her name was
Carpaux, like mine, but she married an American painter."

"An artist?" I inquired.

"_Oui, Monsieur._ He used to paint and decorate and put on wallpaper.
Then, he went away to Alaska after gold and never sent his address. So
Felicie has opened a cleaning and dyeing shop and is doing very well.
She has not heard from Smith for sixteen years, so that she thinks he
is, perhaps, lost. She has told me that she wanted an American person,
who could speak French, to wait on customers and keep the books and send
the bills and write names and addresses on the packages. She lives in
the back of the store. There is a big bed that would be very commodious
for putting the baby on. Madame Dupont has gone to see. Next week I go
to work there also and I will keep an eye o