Oh, but it was cold and dismal in the streets! The mist was no longer the obscuring, suggestive, mysterious factor that it had been when seen from the window, but was now a tangible and formidable thing, with a manifest purpose. It struck through our wraps as though they had been cheesecloth. It had swept the streets clear, for not a soul was to be seen except a couple of sergents de ville, all hooded in capes, and a cab that came rattling through the murk with horses a-steam. Occasionally a flux of warm light from some _café_ would melt a tunnel through the monotonous opaque haze, but the empty chairs and tables upon the sidewalks facing the _café_s offered no invitation. [Illustration: 0181] In front of one of these _café_s, in a sheltered corner made by a glass screen, sat a solitary young woman, dressed stylishly in black, the light catching one of her dainty slippers perched coquettishly upon a foot-rest. A large black hat, tilted wickedly down over her face, cast her eyes in deep shadow and lent her that air of alluring mystery which the women of her class know so well how to cultivate. Her neck and chin were buried deep in the collar of her sealskin cape. A gleam of limp white gauze at her throat lent a pleasing relief to the monotone of her attire. Upon the table in front of her stood an empty glass and two saucers. As we passed she peered at us from beneath her big hat, and smiled coquettishly, revealing glistening white teeth. The atmosphere of loneliness and desolation that encompassed her gave a singularly pathetic character to her vigil. Thus she sat, a picture for an artist, a text for a moralist, pretty, dainty, abandoned. It happened not to be her fortune that her loneliness should be relieved by us.... But other men might be coming afterwards.... All this at a glance through the cold November fog. As we proceeded up the Boul' Mich' the _café_s grew more numerous and passers-by more frequent, but all these were silent and in a hurry, prodded on by the nipping cold fangs of the night. Among the tables outside the _Café d'Harcourt_ crouched and prowled an old man, bundled in ill-fitting rags, searching for remnants of cigars and cigarettes on the sanded sidewalk. From his glittering eyes, full of suspicion, he turned an angry glance upon us as we paused a moment to observe him, and growled,--"_Allons, tu n' peux donc pas laisser un pauv' malheureux?_" Bishop tossed him a sou, which he greedily snatched without a word of thanks. [Illustration: 8183] At the corner, under the gas-lamps, stood shivering newspaper venders trying to sell their few remaining copies of la dernière édition de la presse. Buyers were scarce. We had now reached the Place St.-Michel and the left bank of the river. We turned to the right, following the river wall toward Notre-Dame, whose towers were not discernible through the fog.