Max

streets, wrapping in a silver sheath all that was sordid, all that was dirty and unpicturesque in that corner of Paris. The human note had been touched in that moment in the sal

im. North, south, east, or west were equal on that first day. Everywhere was promise-everywhere a call. Nonc

ce in company with it. With solitude and freedom, the alarm, the disgust receded, and as he we

uresque in his coarse working-clothes; here and there a well-dressed woman, sunning herself in the cold, bright air like a bird of gay plumage. It was the world in miniature, and it stirred and piqued his interest. A wish to stop one of these people, and to pour fort

uller, the traffic was more dense, and the shops offered visions to please every sense. Wine shops were here, curio shops, shops all golden and tempting with cheeses and butter, and hat

spoke to him of another Paris-the Paris that might be Vienna, Petersburg, London, for all it has to say of individual life. His mood changed; he paused and looked back over his shoulder in the direction from whence he had come. But the hesitation was

s were stacked at the street corners-mimosa, lilac, violets. He halted irresistibly to glance at these flowers breathing of the south, and to glanc

and beautifying to an inconceivable degree. The suggestion of modernity that ordinarily hangs over the place was veiled, and the subtle hints of history stole forth, binding the i

of feet tramping to a martial tune. The touch had been given: the vague visions of tradition and history crystallized into a

that will last while the nations live. Stung by the same impulse that affected every man and woman in the Plac

corde toward the rue de Rivoli. By a common impulse he paused, and by an equally common desire to be clo

boy gazed with keen interest at the small figures in the ill-fitting uniforms and at the faces, many as young as his own, that denied past him in confusing numbers. On and on th

hrill passed from one member of the crowd to another, and hats were rai

icant, but it represented the army of France-a thing of infinite tradition, of infinite romance. The blood mounted to his fac

ht, early air, his young face beautiful in its sudden enthusiasm; and to one pair o

of the drums; and now, as if in acceptance of an anticipated opportunity, he forced a way through the knot of p

creatures, and to think that the soldiers of France hav

have started more violently. Fear leaped into his eyes, he wh

claimed. "Oh, how you frighten

the first time that this smile had a peculiarly attractive way of communicating itself from the clean-shaven lip

ishman was sti

gods, you see! 'Twas written that w

at in his brain. Wisdom whispered avoidance of this stranger. To-day was the first day; was it wise to bring into it anything from yesterday?

the fifes and drums still rattled out their march, close besi

in the risk, the boy discarded wisdom and its whispering curb; his nature

me!" he said. "Th

, with that faintest of all foreign intonations