It was after dinner and we were sitting in the little courtyard of the hotel in the dark without our hats--that is, momma and I; the Senator was seldom altogether without his hat.

I think he would have felt it to be a little indecent.

The courtyard was paved, and there were flowers on the stand in the middle of it, natural palms and artificial begonias mixed with the most annoying cleverness, and little tables for coffee cups or glasses were scattered about.

Outside beyond the hotel vestibule one could see and hear Paris rolling by in the gaslight.

It was the only place in the hotel that did not smell of furniture, so we frequented it.
So did Mr.Malt and Mrs.Malt, and Emmeline Malt, and Miss Callis.