Though anxiously looked for, no news of Mons. Du Bois came that day. Acting on the advice of Mons. Carriere, Lucie wrote to her grandfather in the care of Jacques Moulin, and then Paulette determined that they must set out the next morning, although Mons. Carriere protested, and begged that they would remain where they were till something definite had been learned about Mons. Du Bois. But Paulette, with the obstinacy of her class, insisted that there was but one thing to be done, and that was to carry out Mons. Du Bois’s orders. He had said that if they missed him, failed to meet him in this town, they were to go on to Paris and communicate with him there, so to Paris they must go and that was the end of it. Their good host did all that he could to smooth the way for them. He directed them to a small and inexpensive hotel, urged them to let him know how they fared and if in any difficulty to notify him, so they set out quite cheerfully and hopefully. The journey occupied more time than they supposed it would, for the distance was not great and in ordinary times would have taken but a few hours, but now there were frequent stops, cautious and slow advances, but at last Paris was reached and they stood on the platform of the Gare du Nord, Paulette still holding fast to her green umbrella and Pom Pom capering about in delight at being released from confinement. They drove to the quiet little hotel which Mons. Carriere had recommended, and here began Lucie’s life in Paris, whether to be of long or short period who could tell? It was rather disappointing to Lucie from the outset. The small hotel seemed a stuffy, shabby place after the daintiness and freshness of her own home. Paulette was overcome with fear at the traffic in the streets and dared not venture out, nor would she for a moment allow Lucie to go. “You? Alone? A young maid in the streets of Paris? _Ciel!_” she exclaimed. “It would be as a lamb among wolves. No, no, my child, it is not to be thought of.” “But, Paulette,” protested the girl, “it is so stupid here. I thought Paris would be very gay, and here in this dark little street where one can see so little it is anything but gay, and I do not like it.” “One cannot look for gayety in war time,” returned Paulette grimly, “and what one wants is not what one may look to receive.” This Spartan-like response was very discouraging, and leaving Paulette to arrange and rearrange the various baskets and bundles, Lucie went to the window to gaze out into the street. A dismal rain was now falling, and such little light as might be was intercepted by the tall buildings opposite. It was not a very pleasing outlook and there was nothing going on in the street itself that particularly invited attention, yet Lucie, in order to pass away the time, sat for a long time with elbows on the window sill, looking out.