before--that the tree (_his_ tree, for had he not "hugged" it?--and who
shall dare, in this proper age, to "hug" what is not his own?)--that the
tree stood in the relation he remembered, to the window--and that at
that window the same white curtain was visible, though not swept back,
and now covering all the sash completely. He almost thought that he
could distinguish the flag in the pavement on which he must have struck
the hardest when tumbling down from the tree, and his vivid imagination
would not have been much surprised to see a slight dint there, such as
may be made on a tin pot or a stovepipe by the iconoclastic hammer in
the hand of an exuberant four-year-old.

On one of the lintels of the door, as he had not noticed on the previous
visit, was a narrow strip of black japanned tin, with "Madame Elise
Boutell" in small bronze letters, of that back-slope writing only made
by French painters, and which can only be met with, ordinarily, in the
French cities or those of the adjacent German provinces. It seems
unlikely that any particular attention should have been paid to the
latter unimportant detail at that moment; but the detail was really
_not_ an unimportant one. Among the half-working amusements of his idle
hours in youth, Leslie had indulged in a little amateur sign-painting,
and he boasted that he could distinguish one of the cities of the Union
from any other, by the styles of the signs alone, if he should be set
down blindfold in the commercial centre, and then allowed the use of his
eyes. In the present instance, by the use of his quick faculty of
observation, he saw that the lettering of the sign was no American
imitation, but really French. The deductions were that it had been done
in Paris--that it had been used there--that "Madame Elise Boutell" had
used it for the same purpose there. Was not here a corroboration of the
theory of the Rue la Reynie Ogniard?

All these observations, of course, had been made very briefly--in the
little time necessary for Bell Crawford finally to congratulate herself
that the ribbons of her hat would at least be sheltered by the house for
a time, and for Joe Harris to remark what a dirty and tumble-down
precinct Prince Street seemed to be, altogether. By this time, the ring
was answered and the door opened by a neatly dressed negro girl, who
seemed to have none of the peculiarities of the race except its color,
and of whom Leslie asked:

"Madame Boutell? Can we see her