70, Rue Aubry le Boucher, which opened upon the Marche des Innocents.

She fell asleep upon my shoulder in the cab, and was only just sufficiently awake when I left her, to accept all the _marrons glaces_ that yet remained in the pockets of my paletot, and to remind me that I had promised to take her out next Sunday for a drive in the country, and a dinner at the Moulin Rouge.
The fountain in the middle of the Marche was now sparkling in the sunshine like a shower of diamonds, and the business of the market was already at its height.

The shops in the neighboring streets were opening fast.

The "iron tongue" of St.Eustache was calling the devout to early prayer.

Fagged as I was, I felt that a walk through the fresh air would do me good; so I dismissed the cab, and reached my lodgings just as the sleepy _concierge_ had turned out to sweep the hall, and open the establishment for the day.