Here in Paris bright flowers bloomed healthily and a little fountain plashed with that restful monotony which ever suggests the patios of Spain.
The young man was one of those modern servants who know their business.
"Monsieur's name ?" he said, sharply.
"Howard." We were within the dimly lighted hall, with its scent of old carpets and rusting armour, and he led the way upstairs.

He threw open the drawing-room door and mentioned my name in his short, well-trained way.

There was but one person in the large room, and she did not hear the man's voice; for she was laughing herself, and was at that moment chasing a small dog around the room.

The little animal, which entered gaily into the sport, was worrying a dainty handkerchief in his teeth, and so engaged was he in this destructive purpose that he ran straight into my hands.

I rescued the bedraggled piece of cambric and stood upright to find mademoiselle standing before me with mirth and a certain dignified self-possession in her eyes.
[Illustration: "THANK YOU, MONSIEUR," SHE SAID, TAKING THE HANDKERCHIEF FROM MY HAND.] "Thank you, Monsieur," she said, taking the handkerchief from my hand.
It was evident that she did not recognise me as the stranger who had accosted her father on the previous day.
I explained my business in as few words as possible.
"The servant," I added, "made a mistake in bringing me to this room.