TO dash through the town, along the quay where we had walked so many times beneath the trees or leaning over the low parapet fed the fishes, past the two-spired cathedral, the cloisters of which had become so familiar, to mount the hill and draw up before the door of the Bellevue again, welcomed by the innkeeper, and greeted with outstretched hands by "Charles," who had served our chocolate, while familiar faces met us at every window or upon the stairs, to pull up the shutters, throw wide open the windows, and drink in the glorious beauty of the scene before our eyes--all this was delightful, but fleeting, like all earthly joys, and mixed with pain; for here we were to say "good by." Our pleasant party was to break up. The friends in whose care we had been so long, were off for Germany, and Mrs. K. and I must turn our faces towards home. We were to renew our early and brief experience in travelling alone. It had been as limited as our French, which consisted principally of "_Est-ce que vous avez?_" followed by a pantomimic display that would have done credit to a professional, and "_Quel est le prix?_" succeeded by the blankest amazement, since we could seldom, if ever, understand a reply. "Are you afraid?" queried our friends. "No; O, no." The state of our minds transcended fear. It was a hot day when we took our last view of the lake, as we rode down the hill from the hotel, past the cathedral, past the shaded promenade upon the quay, to the station; but we heeded neither the heat nor the landscape when we were once in the train and on the way. Our hearts were heavy with grief at parting from friends, our spirits weighed down by nameless fears. It was a wicked world, we suddenly remembered. Wolves in sheep's clothing doubtless awaited us at every turn. Roaring lions guarded every station. We clutched our travelling-bags, umbrellas, and wraps, with a grasp only attained by grim fate or lone women. Gradually, however, as the uneventful hours wore away, we forgot that in eternal vigilance lay our safety, and relaxed our hold. We had left Lucerne at noon; at five o'clock we reached Basle. Here we were to spend the night at the hotel _Les Trois Rois_. Every step of the way to Paris had been made plain to us by our kind friends. "Let me see; the hotel is close by the station?" queried Mrs. K., when we had left our trunks, as our friends had advised, and followed the crowd to the sidewalk. "Yes," I replied with assurance, "close by, they said; I am sure." Accordingly we turned away from the long line of hotel omnibuses backed up against the curb-stone, to the fine hotels on each side of the straight avenue, extending as far as the eye could see. Alas! among their blazing names was no "_Trois Rois_." We read them over and over again. We even tried to pronounce them. Not a king was there, to say nothing of _three_.