The two young officers walked on up the street. Kendall did not feel like talking. He was thinking about Andree and comparing her with Maude Knox. He was wondering what Andree would think of Maude, and what Maude would think of Andree. Also he wondered a bit what Maude thought about _him_ and what sort of an affair she believed him to be carrying on with Andree.... Not that it mattered to him in the least what she thought, but— At last they stood before the building in which their apartment was located. Bert pulled the bell and presently the lock clicked. They pushed open the huge door and stepped into the blackness of the court, lighting matches to find the light-button. It was a climb of four flights of stairs to their rooms, which they entered with some pride of possession and sat down to have a final smoke before going to bed. “I wonder what the _concierge_ will say to our bringing the girls here for dinner to-morrow night?” Kendall said, for the point still worried him. “Young man,” said Bert, drowsily, “you aren’t in Detroit. Go to the window and reassure yourself. This is Paris....” CHAPTER VI Kendall was awakened next morning by the sound of some one shuffling about his room. It was a woman, and she was moving toward the door with his shoes in her hand, and for an instant he wondered if he were in the presence of some new sort of burglar. The woman was short and very fat, with a large head scantily covered by that colored hair which does not turn white at sixty. Her face was broad, her nose was broad and had a peculiar and laughable up-tilt, her mouth was broad, and her eyes were very large and kindly. She had one generous double chin and a quite respectable growth of whiskers. Her eyes and her nose were the most notable features. One liked her eyes and one could not help laughing at her nose. As a complete figure she was droll. She saw that he was awake and grinned timidly. “_Bon jour, monsieur_,” she said, and then, waggling his shoes, followed her greeting by a torrent of French in which the word “_chaussers_” occurred frequently. She spoke very rapidly and was unintelligible to Kendall. “Arlette?” he asked. “_Oui, je suis Arlette_,” she said, with a broad grin of delight, and then scudded through the door suddenly, as if she had been overtaken by a fit of embarrassment. Kendall got out of bed and called Bert, who was still asleep. “Hey, somebody’s swiped my shoes!” came presently in a voice of complaint. “Shut up!” said Kendall, going into his friend’s room. “It’s Arlette. I saw her sneaking out with mine when I woke up.” “Arlette? ... Oh, _she’s_ here, eh? What’s she want with my shoes? I’ve heard these French cooks could—” But just then Arlette pushed the door open, regardless of the state of her young employers’ toilets, and deposited the shoes on the floor, carefully cleaned and polished.