I could have sworn that she had read my thought in my eyes the first time I looked at her, so livid did her face become, and this belief disturbed me so that I determined to change my lodging, but had chanced upon no other matching the lightness of my purse. I am not a man to be frightened at phantoms of my own imagining, but as I sat there in the darkness I promised myself that another night should find me far from the Rue du Chantre. Morning came, and the filthy panes of the little window above the stair-head turned from black to gray as I sat there musing. I arose, removed from my clothing the traces of the dirty floor and went down into the court, where I made my toilet at a trough in the yard, keeping one eye upon the stair meanwhile to see that none descended. I had scarce gained the stair-head again, when the door of my room opened, and Mlle. Ribaut appeared framed in the doorway, fresh and rosy as a picture by Watteau. “Good-morning, M. le Moyne,” she cried, and courtesied to me with a grace worthy of Louis’s court. “Good-morning, Mademoiselle,” I said, bowing and taking her hand, which, I told myself, was one of the prerogatives of a brother. “I trust you slept well?” “Never better in my life, Monsieur,” she answered gayly. “I have never before been honored with a guard at my door, especially one on whom I could rely so thoroughly.” I bowed again at the compliment, and she must have seen the tenderness which I could not keep from my face, for she drew her hand away, and glanced nervously at the floor. I watched her glowing cheek with ravished eyes until, of a sudden, I remembered that a brother would not do so. “Come, Mademoiselle,” I cried, “we must get breakfast. I know a splendid place just around the corner, where they serve the most excellent coffee, and rolls which fairly melt in one’s mouth.” “And I am famously hungry,” she answered, laughing, her embarrassment forgotten in an instant. “Wait until I get my hat, Monsieur.” She was back in a moment, and we went down the stairs together and out into the street. The morning was bright and warm and the streets were thronged with people. I glanced again at my companion’s happy face, and resolved to do nothing which could bring a shade upon it, however difficult I might find the task. We were soon at the café in the Rue de Beauvais, and the waiter gave us a little table in a corner near the window, whence we could look out upon the busy street. I shall not soon forget that meal. Mlle. Ribaut laughed with delight as the coffee was placed before her, and served it with the prettiest grace in the world. As for me, I almost forgot to eat in gazing at her. “You appear distracted, M. le Moyne,” she cried. “I’ll wager you are thinking with what an irksome charge you have burdened yourself.” “Not at all, Mademoiselle,” I answered quickly. “I was thinking how difficult it is to be a brother to an adorable girl with whom one is just getting acquainted.”