Wilkins and Guly went out and locked the door, leaving the young men in there. They walked on, through the busy streets thronged with pleasure seekers, some on foot, some riding, all gaily dressed and full apparently of bright anticipations and buoyant life. Sometimes a lamp gleam would fall through the plate-glass windows of some princely structure, where light forms of beauty, attired in fashion's garb, were flitting through the mazy dance or listening to music's enrapturing strain. As Guly walked on, noting the panorama of life which passed by him, he fell into a fit of musing from which he was unable to rouse himself, until they turned into another street, and Wilkins remarked quietly that it was the one in which Blanche lived. Then his whole attention was awakened, and there was no more musing, no more lack of conversation till they paused to rap at the door of the little house where Blanche lived. She opened it herself, and held out a hand to each of the new comers. "I am so happy to see you," said she earnestly, as she permitted them to enter. "Guly, this is grandpapa, you will soon be acquainted with him, for we have been talking about you all day, and I have been describing you to him, so that he might know how you looked, and could know just how you would always act when I was giving you my work for sale, and all that." The old gentleman was very venerable in appearance, and sat in a large stuffed chair with his grey locks floating over his shoulders, and his hands clasped upon a staff he held before him. His sightless orbs were turned in the direction whence came his good child's voice, and when she mentioned Guly's name he held out one trembling hand, and expressed, in a feeble, faltering tone, his pleasure at "seeing" them. Guly took the extended hand, shook it cordially, and sat down near the old gentleman and entered into a brisk conversation with him, leaving Blanche to be entertained by, and to entertain, Wilkins. "She called you Guly, this child of mine," said the old man, suddenly breaking a slight pause which had occured in the conversation. "Blanche, my love, when will you ever learn to be polite?" "Dear grandpapa," returned Blanche, approaching him and stroking down his snow-white locks with her soft hand, "don't call me impolite, only a little too thoughtless and informal, grandpapa." "Thoughtless and informal then, my dear; but I could wish you not to address young gentlemen by their given names." "Well, grandpapa, I always say 'Mr.' to Monsieur Wilkins, because he is twice as tall as I, and looks always as if he expected to be mistered; but, grandpapa, just feel of Guly--he is nothing but a boy, only a little taller and a little older than I. Do let us be Blanche and Guly to each other." There was no withstanding the simple and artless manner with which these words were spoken, and Blanche hung fondly over her grandfather's chair.