His boats were burned; the great ice-bound sea protected him from the past; he was here in Paris, in the first moments of a fascinating present, under the guardianship of this comrade whose face he had never seen until yesterday, whose very name was still unfamiliar to his ears.

It was anomalous, but it held happiness; and who, equipped with youth and health, starting out upon life's road, stops to question happiness?
He was the adventuring prince in the fairy-tale: every step was taken upon enchanted ground.
Nothing gave him cause for quarrel as they made their way onward.

Even the Boulevard de Magenta, with its prosaic tram-lines, its large, cheap shops, its common _brasseries_ and spanning railway bridge, seemed a place of promise; and as they passed on, ever mounting toward Montmartre, his brain quickened to new joy, new curiosity in every flaunting advertisement, every cobble-stone in the long steep way of the Boulevard Barbes, the rue de la Nature, and the rue de Clignancourt, until at length they emerged into the rue Andre de Sarte--that narrow street, quaint indeed in its dark old houses and its small, mysterious wine shops that savor of Italy or Spain.
They paused, at the corner of the rue Andre de Sarte, by the doorway of an old, overcrowded curio shop--the curio shop that in time to come was destined to become so familiar a landmark to them both, to stand sentinel at the gateway of so many emotions.
The lights, the shadows, the effects were all uncertain in this strange and fascinating neighborhood.

High above them, white against the winter sky, glimmered the domes of the Sacre-Coeur, looking down in symbolic silence upon the restless city; to the left stretched the rue Ronsard, with its deserted market and lonely pavement; to the right, the Escalier de Sainte-Marie, picturesque as its name, wound its precipitous way apparently to the very stars, while at their feet, creeping upward to the threshold of the church, was the plantation of rocks, trees, and holly bushes that in the mysterious darkness seemed aquiver with a thousand whispered secrets.

There was deep contrast here to the excitement, the vivacity of the boulevards; it seemed as if some shadow from the white domes above had given sanctuary to the spirit of the place--the familiar spirit of the time-stained houses, the stone steps worn by many feet, the dark, naked trees.
The boy's hand again pressed his companion's arm.
"What are those steps ?" He pointed to the right.
"The Escalier de Sainte-Marie; they lead up to the rue Mueller, and, if you desire it, to the Sacre-Coeur itself.