THE VIADUCT OF MAINTENON, NEAR CHARTRES 192 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein THE CHÂTEAU OF MAINTENON, FROM THE NORTH 196 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein THE TOMB OF LAFAYETTE IN THE PICPUS CEMETERY, PARIS 200 From a photograph THE CEMETERY OF THE PICPUS. LAFAYETTE'S TOMB ON THE RIGHT, TABLET TO ANDRÉ CHÉNIER ON THE LEFT 202 From a photograph by the author THE CATHEDRAL AT SENS 204 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein THE TOMB OF JEAN SANS PEUR AT DIJON 210 From a photograph THE WELL OF MOSES IN THE ABBEY OF CHARTREUX AT DIJON 212 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein THE TOWER OF STATE, PALACE OF THE DUKES OF BOURGOGNE, AT DIJON 216 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein LA SCHLUCHT. THE TUNNEL ON THE ROAD TO MÜNSTER 224 By permission of Messrs. Neurdein THE CATHEDRAL OF FREIBURG, BADEN 228 By permission of F. Firth & Co. A CORNER IN THE BLACK FOREST 236 From a photograph THE MANOR HOUSE AT WÜLFLINGEN, NEAR WINTERTHUR 238 From a photograph INTERIOR OF THE MANOR HOUSE AT WÜLFLINGEN, NEAR WINTERTHUR 240 From an old woodcut WINGED WHEELS IN FRANCE CHAPTER I MONTE CARLO "Monsieur smiles." To begin a journey with the greeting of a little child should be a happy omen. I am leaning over the terrace at Monte Carlo, watching the sparkle of the shifting sea. Away to the eastward glisten the villas on Cape Martan, to the west rises the ancient city of Monaco, behind me towers the Casino, the scene of more misery than almost any other spot on earth. Beyond and above it, rise the hills tier on tier, dotted with hotels and villas, while far in the blue dome of sky soar the eternal snows. A scene of beauty, yet one so familiar that I scarcely note it; neither are my thoughts of the nearby misery in the Casino when the little voice murmurs "Monsieur," and I see at my feet, seated on the marble of the terrace with masses of rhododendrons all around her, a mite of a girl, with sunny hair and blue eyes, who laughingly holds up for my acceptance a pink rose. It evidently is not considered proper for a young lady of her age to be talking to a strange man and she is accordingly hustled away, her wondering and rebellious eyes gazing back at me as she waves a farewell. Bless her little heart, it must be almost the only innocent thing in this sink of iniquity. With her disappearance, I have the place all to myself, the town gives up no sounds of life and soon even the sea has murmured itself to sleep, while yonder building, from the outside, is silent as a tomb now; yet as I enter I find every table