It was rather late in the evening when he reached his hotel; he was tired; and he thought he would go soon to bed. His room looked out into a side street that was pretty sure to be deserted at this hour; so that, just as he was turning off the light, he was a trifle surprised to hear a slight and distant sound as of singing; and from idle curiosity he went to the window. There was a full moon; the opposite pavement and the fronts of the houses were white in the cold and clear radiance; silence reigned save for this chance sound he had heard. At the same moment he descried the source of it. There were two young girls coming along the pavement opposite—hurrying home, apparently, arm-in-arm—while they amused themselves by singing a little in an underhand way, one of them even attempting a second from time to time. And how could he mistake the air?—it was the _Claire Fontaine_! The girls were singing in no sad fashion; but idly and carelessly to amuse themselves on their homeward way; and indeed so quietly that even in this prevailing silence he could only guess at the words— J’ai perdu ma maîtresse Sans l’avoir mérité, Pour un bouquet de roses Que je lui refusai. * * * * * Je voudrais que la rose Fût encore au rosier, Et moi et ma maîtresse Dans les mêms amitiés. And then the two slight, dark figures went by in the white moonlight; and eventually the sound ceased in the distance. But he had been greatly cheered and comforted. This was a friendly and familiar air. He had reached Maisrie’s home at last; _la Claire Fontaine_ proclaimed it. And if, when he neared the realms of sleep, his heart was full of the old refrain— Lui ya longtemps que je t’aime, Jamais je ne t’oublierai, there was something of hopefulness there as well: he had left the despair of Omaha behind him. CHAPTER IV. ENLIGHTENMENT.