In the dusk that held the city the next evening, Betty tapped at Moll’s door; and she thought she heard a sob for answer.... She listened awhile; but all was still. She rattled at the door and called. Only silence. Slowly she descended the stairs again. At the bottom she came upon Madelaine, lean and cheery. There was some talk. She was just about to leave the girl when a man entered from out the dusk of the court, passed them, and began to ascend the stair. It was Aubrey. She heard him climb flight after flight. He reached the top. Her eyes were on Madelaine’s gossip, but her ears were listening for only one sound. A door opened and slammed. There was silence. CHAPTER LV _Wherein is Some Worship of the Moon_ It was the national fête of the Republic--the Fourteenth of July. All day, Paris had been a-rattle with tap of hammers. At every street corner, baggy-trousered carpenters had been putting the last nails into the pulpits of the lightly made bandstands; and now, as the flaring sun went down in golden glory over the edge of the city, bathing the decorated streets in amber light--the boarding of the bandstands being covered with the gay splendour of tricolour bunting, and gaudy coloured paper lanterns strung in gay festoons from lamp and tree and window--Paris felt herself arrayed in all her holiday attire as she took breath before her dancing. At the end of the street where Noll and Betty had their lodging, the carpenters completed their task amidst wide-eyed wonder of inquisitive children and chatter of gossiping neighbours that stood at gaze along the pavement. The landlord of the little restaurant opposite called to the workmen to go and sit down at his tables and quench their thirst. The great slouching fellows needed no second bidding--indeed, they knew the liquor good, for the fat genial little host, Monsieur Charcot, had been plying them with tankards throughout the day, at every hint of heat or weariness, and the hints had not been few, urging them to push on, that he might get up his lanterns, and cover the stand with the red, white and blue stripes of France before darkness fell. Beaming with hospitality, he now sallied across the road, two waiters at his side carrying paper lanterns and bundles of the nation’s flags; and the rickety bandstand was soon converted into as near a gorgeous opera-box as the limitations would allow. Madame Charcot stood near, crying orders to the waiters, which nobody obeyed. All the pretty _blanchisseuses_, bare-headed, were out along the curb, adding advice and merriment. The which brought out the shop-lads. There was kindly genial banter, and much talk and prophecy of dancing in the evening. The old people stood about, smiling; and were raising reminiscences from the dead.