of the city's business; and pounding stoutly on the door between the rooms, she aroused Monsieur and Joseph, who arose immediately. They had not the enthusiasm in this present business that animated Irène. Though neither expressed himself, both believed that she was laboring under delusions not far from unsoundness. It had been her persistence that brought them to Paris; and despite their melancholy, her hope spurred them on.
After they had breakfasted she said: "Now for the Rue St. Honoré and the Rue du Roule. Which way?"
Monsieur made some inquiries and they started out, passed the Halle aux Vins, crossed the Seine at the Isle St. Louis by way of the Pont de la Tournelle and the Pont Marie, thence north-westward until they reached the Rue St. Denis at the Marche des Innocentes, where everything was astir.
"Here," said Irène, pointing to the great Marché, "is where my uncle, aunt and I stopped to drink at the fountain before we passed down this way," and she pointed into the Rue St. Honore. "This
