In a kind of bewilderment we strayed down the avenue. Might not some one of the fair dwellings gleaming out from the shrubbery prove the house we sought? There was a rattle and clatter behind us; a passing omnibus. Another, and still another followed. Serene faces beamed out upon our perplexity. A cloud of dust enveloped us as the last rolled cheerfully by, upon the end of which we read, with staring eyes, "_Les Trois Rois_." "Ah!" gasped Mrs. K. "Sure enough," I replied. "Why, suppose we take it?" said she, slowly. "Suppose we do," I assented, with equal deliberation. But by this time the little red omnibus was a speck in the distance. "At least we can follow it." And we quickened our steps, when, with almost human perversity, it turned a distant corner, and vanished from sight. Fixing our eyes steadily upon the point of disappearance, we hastened on, and on, and on! I have a faint recollection of green trees, of stately houses, of an immense fountain swaying its white arms in the distance--mirage-like, for we never approached it; of the sun pouring its fierce rays upon us as we toiled on, with our wraps and satchels turning to lead in our arms. We reached the corner at last. There was no omnibus; no hotel in sight; only the meeting of half a dozen narrow, crooked streets, crowded with carriages, and alive with humanity. All settled purpose left us then; our wits, never very firmly attached, followed. We became completely demoralized. "Suppose you inquire," suggested Mrs. K., after a period of inaction, during which we were pushed, and jostled, and trampled under foot by the crowd. If I possessed one capability above another, it was that of asking questions, especially in a strange language. Upon this corner where we were standing, rose an imposing building, in the open doorway of which stood a portly gentleman, with a countenance like the setting sun, in glow and warmth. A heavy mane flowed over his shoulders. Evidently this was the first of the roaring lions! Taking our lives in our hands, we approached him. "Do you speak English?" I ventured. "_Nein_," was his reply, with a shrug of the leonine shoulders. I drew a long breath and began again. "_Parlez-vous Français?_" His reply to this was as singular as unprecedented. He turned his back and disappeared up the wide stairs in the rear. "This _may_ be foreign politeness," I was beginning, doubtfully, when he reappeared, accompanied by an intensified counterpart of himself. The setting sun in the face of this man gave promise of a scorching day. "_Parlez-vous Français, monsieur?_" I began again, when we had bowed and "_bon-jour_"-ed for some time. "_Oui, oui, mademoiselle._"