her that volume of Tennyson, that
she loved all that was English for my sake? Surely, I was worse than
ungrateful, when, having so much, I was still dissatisfied! Why was I
not the happiest fellow in Paris? Why .....

My meditations were here interrupted by a sudden flash of very vivid
lightning, followed by a low muttering of distant thunder. I paused, and
looked round. The sky was darker than ever, and though the air was
singularly stagnant, I could hear among the uppermost leaves of the tall
trees that stealthy rustling that generally precedes a storm.
Unfortunately for myself, I had not felt disposed to go home at once on
leaving the theatre; but, being restless alike in mind and body, had
struck down through the Place Vendome and up the Rue de Rivoli,
intending to come home by a circuitous route. At this precise moment I
found myself in the middle of the Place de la Concorde, with Cleopatra's
needle towering above my head, the lamps in the Champs Elysees twinkling
in long chains of light through the blank darkness before me, and no
vehicle anywhere in sight. To be caught in a heavy shower, was not,
certainly, an agreeable prospect for one who had just emerged from the
opera in the thinnest of boots and the lightest of folding hats, with
neither umbrella nor paletot of proof; so, having given a hasty glance
in every direction from which a cab might be expected, I took valiantly
to my heels, and made straight for the Madeleine.

Long before I had accomplished half the distance, however, another flash
announced the quick coming of the tempest, and the first premonitory
drops began to plash down heavily upon the pavement. Still I ran on,
thinking that I should find a cab in the Place de la Madeleine; but the
Place de la Madeleine was empty. Even the cafe at the corner was closed.
Even the omnibus office was shut up, and the red lamp above the door
extinguished.

What was I to do now? Panting and breathless, I leaned up against a
doorway, and resigned myself to fate. Stay, what was that file of
carriages, dimly seen through the rain which was now coming down in
earnest? It was in a private street opening off at the back of the
Madeleine--a street in which I could remember no public stand. Perhaps
there was an evening party at one of the large houses lower down, and,
if so, I might surely find a not wholly incorruptible cabman, who would
consent for a liberal _pourboire_ to drive me home and keep his fare
waiting, if