horse-car rumbled stolidly by. In the
mud on the pavements, a few pedestrians struggled with excited
umbrellas.

"The deuce!" remarked the clerk. "I'd give ten dollars if somebody would
come in and buy something, if 'twere only cotton socks."

He waited amid the shadows of the grey afternoon. No customers came. He
heaved a long sigh and sat down on a high stool. From beneath a stack of
unlaundried shirts he drew a French novel with a picture on the cover.
He yawned again, glanced lazily toward the street, and settled himself
as comfortable as the gods would let him upon the high stool.

He opened the book and began to read. Soon it could have been noticed
that his blonde moustache took on a curl of enthusiasm, and the
refractory locks on his brow showed symptoms of soft agitation.

"Silvere did not see the young girl for some days," read the clerk. "He
was miserable. He seemed always to inhale that subtle perfume from her
hair. At night he saw her eyes in the stars.

"His dreams were troubled. He watched the house. Heloise did not appear.
One day he met Vibert. Vibert wore a black frock-coat. There were
wine-stains on the right breast. His collar was soiled. He had not
shaved.

"Silvere burst into tears. 'I love her! I love her! I shall die!' Vibert
laughed scornfully. His necktie was second-hand. Idiotic, this boy in
love. Fool! Simpleton! But at last he pitied him. She goes to the
music-teacher's every morning. Silly Silvere embraced him.

"The next day Silvere waited at the street corner. A vendor was selling
chestnuts. Two gamins were fighting in an alley. A woman was scrubbing
some steps. This great Paris throbbed with life.

"Heloise came. She did not perceive Silvere. She passed with a happy
smile on her face. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere felt
himself swooning. 'Ah, my God!'

"She crossed the street. The young man received a shock that sent the
warm blood to his brain. It had been raining. There was mud. With one
slender hand Heloise lifted her skirts. Silvere leaning forward, saw
her--"

A young man in a wet mackintosh came into the little gent's furnishing
store.

"Ah, beg pardon," said he to the clerk, "but do you have an agency for a
steam laundry here? I have been patronising a Chinaman down th' avenue
for some time, but he--what? No? You have none here? Well, why don't you
start one, anyhow? It'd be a good thing in this neighbourhood. I live
just round the corner, and it'd be a gr