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STCHOUKINE DVOR.
89
"It is a very cold window, and his view of Europe seems to be confined to the frozen waters of the Baltic," I remarked frivolously.
We had reached home by this time, and the Suisse hurried to unfasten the door. There is generally a mysterious smell of cooking about the entrance to his tiny room at the foot of the stairs,—cooking mingled with tobacco,—and a sound of smothered cries, strangely like those of a baby. Yet the family of our Suisse is supposed to dwell in a small tenement round the corner.
