“My dear friend,” he read in French, “I am in Paris, and chancing to remember your old address--(“I swear I never told her the number,” he thought)--send this in search of you. How pleasant it would be to see you, and to have a little converse in the sweet French tongue. You did not know that it was my own, did you? But yes, I have French-Creole blood. One is happy here among one's own kind. This evening I shall be alone. Felicity.” So, she was a Creole--of the race of Josephine! His pulses beat. Cramming the note into his pocket he whirled excitedly upon his friend. “Adolph,” he cried, “I'm going out--where are my clothes?” and began hastily to rummage for his Gladstone amidst a pile of their joint belongings. Throwing it open, he dragged out his dress suit--folded still as Mary had packed it--and strewed a table with collars, ties, shirts, and other accessories. “Hot water, Adolph! Throw some sticks into the stove--I must shave,” he called, and Adolph, amazed at this sudden transformation, hastily obeyed. “Where do you go?” he asked, as he filled the kettle. “I'm going to see a very attractive young woman,” Stefan grinned. “Wow, what a mercy I brought some decent clothes, eh?” He was already stripped, and shaking out a handful of silk socks. Something clicked to the floor, but he did not notice it. The dressing proceeded in a whirl, Adolph much impressed by the splendors of his friend's toilet. A fine shirt of tucked linen, immaculate pumps, links of dull gold--his comrade in Bohemia had completely vanished. “O là, là!” cried he, beaming, “now I see it is true about all your riches!” “I'm going to take a taxi,” Stefan announced as he slipped into his coat; “can I drop you?” He stood ready, having overtaken Adolph's sketchy but leisured dressing. “What speed, my child! One moment!” Adolph shook on his coat, found his glasses, and was crossing to put out the lamp when his foot struck a small object. “What is this, something of yours?” He stooped and picked up a framed snapshot of a girl playing with a baby. “How beautiful!” he exclaimed, holding it under the lamp. “Oh, yes,” said Stefan with a slight frown, “that's Mary. I didn't know I had it with me. Come on, Adolph,” and he tossed the picture back into the open Gladstone. While Adolph found a taxi, Stefan paused a moment to question the concierge. Yes, monsieur's note had been left that afternoon, Madame remembered, by une petite Chinoise, bien chic, who had asked if Monsieur lived here. Madame's aged eyes snapped with Gallic appreciation of a possible intrigue. Stefan was glad when he had dropped Adolph. He stretched at ease along the cushions of his open taxi, breathing in the warm, audacious air of spring, and watched the faces of the crowds as they emerged under the lights to be lost again mysteriously in the dusk.