After a leisurely meal, they got into a street car in which they rode for perhaps twenty minutes along paved streets lined with high buildings or large houses very close together. Then they got out and walked along several blocks of very hard pavement, until they came to a large gray house with a tall iron fence. They climbed a number of stone steps leading to a tightly closed, forbidding door. "Your grandfather lives here," said Mr. Duval, ringing the bell. A very stiff butler opened the door, ushered them in, and told them to be seated in a very stiff reception-room, while he presented the letter that Mr. Duval had handed him. Jeanne eyed the remote ceiling with wonder and awe. The butler returned presently with six persons at his heels. They had evidently risen hastily from the breakfast table, for two of them had brought their napkins with them. A very tremulous old man, a large, rather handsome woman, a stout, but decidedly mild-looking gentleman, two tall girls, and a boy; all looking as if they had just had a shock of some kind. They did not shake hands with Mr. Duval. They all gazed, instead, at Jeanne. A great many eyes for so small a target. Jeanne could feel herself shrinking under their piercing glances. For what seemed like a very long time, no one spoke. But oh, how they looked and looked and looked! Finally, Mr. Duval broke the embarrassing silence. [Illustration: JEANNE, LEFT ALONE WITH THE STRANGERS, INSPECTED THEM WITH INTEREST] "You have read my letter?" he asked, addressing the older man. "Yes." "Then pardon me, if I suggest that you grant me an interview apart from these young people. I have much to say to you, Mr. Huntington." "In here," said the mild gentleman, opening a door. "Remain where you are, Jeannette," prompted her father. Jeannette, left alone with the strangers, inspected them with interest. The girls looked like their mother, she decided; rather smooth and polished on the outside--like whitefish, for instance, with round, hard grayish eyes. The boy's eyes were different; yellow, she thought, or very pale brown. His upper lip lifted in a queer way, as if nothing quite pleased him. They were all rather colorless as to skin. She had seen children--there had been several on the train, in fact--whose looks were more pleasing. She began to wonder after a while if somebody ought not to say something. Was it _her_ place to speak? But she couldn't think of a thing to say. She felt relieved when the three young Huntingtons began to talk to one another. Now and again she caught a familiar word; but many of their phrases were quite new to her. At any rate, they were not speaking French; she had heard her father speak that. She had heard too little slang to be able to recognize or understand it.