Wrapping my dressing-gown about me--I had afterward reason to thank the kindly fates that it was the green one with the white fleurs-de-lis, and not my customary, unspeakably disreputable bath-robe, scorched by the cigarette ashes of years,--I approached the door and peeped out into the empty hotel corridor. The incandescent lights glimmered mildly through a gray haze which was acrid and choking to breathe; little puffs of smoke crept lazily out of the lift-shaft just opposite; and down-stairs all Liege was shouting incoherently, and dragging about the heavier pieces of hotel furniture. "By Jove!" said I, and whistled a little disconsolately as I looked downward through the bars about the lift-shaft. "Do you reckon," spoke a voice--a most agreeable voice,--"we are in any danger?" The owner of the voice was tall; not even the agitation of the moment prevented my observing that, big as I am, her eyes were almost on a level with my shoulder. They were not unpleasant eyes, and a stray dream or two yet lingered under their heavy lids. The owner of the voice wore a strange garment that was fluffy and pink,--pale pink like the lining of a sea-shell--and billows of white and the ends of various blue ribbons peeped out about her neck. I made mental note of the fact that disordered hair is not necessarily unbecoming; it sometimes has the effect of an unusually heavy halo set about the face of a half-awakened angel. "It would appear," said I, meditatively, "that, in consideration of our being on the fifth floor, with the lift-shaft drawing splendidly, and the stairs winding about it,--except the two lower flights, which have just fallen in,--and in consideration of the fire department's probable incompetence to extinguish anything more formidable than a tar-barrel, --yes, it would appear, I think, that we might go further than 'dangerous' and find a less appropriate adjective to describe the situation." "You mean we cannot get down?" The beautiful voice was tremulous. And my silence made reply. "Well, then," she suggested, cheerfully, after due reflection, "since we can't go down, why not go up?" As a matter of fact, nothing could be more simple. We were on the top floor of the hotel, and beside us, in the niche corresponding to the stairs below, was an iron ladder that led to a neatly-whitewashed trapdoor in the roof. Adopting her suggestion, I pushed against this trap-door and found that it yielded readily; then, standing at the top of the ladder, I looked about me on a dim expanse of tiles and chimneys; yet farther off were the huddled roofs and gables of Liege, and just a stray glimpse of the Meuse; and above me brooded a clear sky and the naked glory of the moon. 3 I lowered my head with a distinct sigh of relief. "I say," I called, "it is infinitely nicer up here--superb view of the city, and within a minute's drop of the square! Better come up."