reamed across the new quay in a
disordered procession, struggling with all that amount of hand-baggage
which gets into everyone's way but their own, as they hurry forward to
secure for themselves the best seats and most comfortable corners.

The Custom-house was over. One ancient lady who stood near us was
politely demanded by the examiner if she had cigars, tobacco or brandy
to declare. Her flaxen wig seemed to stand on end as she asked if they
mistook her for a New Woman: Quaker-like answering one question with
another. The examiner received her query _au pied de la lettre_, and
earnestly looked at the lady, who, in spite of flaxen wig, rouge,
pencilled brows, was of the Past. All his intelligence in his eyes, he
replied: "About the same age as the century, I should say, madame;" then
marked her packages and turned to the next in waiting. Had those two
found themselves alone together, judging from the lady's expression
there would have been terrible paragraphs in the next day's papers. As
it was she entered one of the waiting trains and we saw her no more.
Evidently she had been a beauty in her day, and it is hard to serve
where one has reigned.

So we steamed on to the gay capital, in her day almost to the modern
world what Rome was to the ancient. And if not altogether that now, who
has she to thank but herself? Nations like people must reap as they sow.
Yet, whirling through the broad thoroughfares, we felt she still holds
her own. Nowhere such floods of light, turning night into day, making
one blink like owls in the sunshine. Nowhere shops so resplendent that a
Jew's ransom would not purchase them. Nowhere such a Vanity Fair crowded
with a light-hearted people, who dance through the world to the tune of
_Away with Melancholy!_ Passing from the Gare du Nord, the brilliant
boulevards were full of life and movement.

Our coachman turned into the Rue Daunou and brought up at the Hotel
Chatham: quiet, comfortable, but like all Parisian hotels terribly in
want of air. The manager received us with as much attention as though we
had arrived for six months instead of a couple of hours, in order to
fortify ourselves for the night journey southwards.

The salle-a-manger opened its hospitable doors, disclosing a number of
small tables, snow-white cloths, sparkling glass and silver; a pleasant
vision. Richly dressed ladies, blazing with jewels, fanned themselves
with lazy grace. In a quiet corner sat two quiet people, evid