Do you remember"-- she turned to Poor Jr.--"that poor man we saw in front of the Cafe' de la Paix with the sign painted upon his head ?" Ah, the good-night, with its friendly cloak! The good, kind night! "I remember," he answered, with some shortness.

"A little faster, boatman!" "I don't know what made it," she said, "I can't account for it, but I've been thinking of him all through that last song." Perhaps not so strange, since one may know how wildly that poor devil had been thinking of her! "I've thought of him so often," the gentle voice went on.

"I felt so sorry for him.

I never felt sorrier for any one in my life.

I was sorry for the poor, thin cab-horses in Paris, but I was sorrier for him.