“You will not take the next turn, nor the next,” he explained in rapid French. “But the next after that you will take, for that is the Rue Constantine. It runs but the one direction from here, so if you walk along it and look carefully you cannot miss your house, monsieurs.” They thanked the man and made their way in the direction indicated. When they turned into the Rue Constantine, Longsword said: “Here it is, sure enough. I remember us passing that great building over there some time since. Faix, and it’d be a queer thing entirely if we hadn’t found our way back, so it would.” But Ethan seemed rather doubtful. Gazing about, he said: “Don’t be quite so sure about your big building, Shamus. We’ve passed quite a number of them in the last few hours.” “Ah, but we are right anyway, Master Ethan, as you’ll find. A half hour will see us doing justice to that good French woman’s fine cooking.” They strode along for more than a half hour; at length Ethan saw that doubt was shaking the confidence of Longsword. He laughed gleefully. “Well, we may yet stay in the streets supperless all night,” said he. “Are you very hungry, Shamus?” “Master Ethan,” said the trooper, “this walk has given me an appetite such as I haven’t had since I were a bit of a gossoon at home in Tipperary.” This solemn assurance and the feeling manner with which it was delivered was too much for Ethan. He leaned against a pillar of a building which they were passing and shouted with mirth. “You’ll kill me yet, you old death’s head,” cried he at length. “But, go on, let’s see if we can’t make you happy by finding the house and the supper that you so long for.” Some distance farther along Shamus uttered an exclamation of delight. “Here we are, sure,” said he. “The brown building with the railings about it and the wide roof like a bird box.” “There are many such houses in Paris,” said Ethan. “And we’ve passed some of them within the last ten minutes.” “But none wid the window gardens at the second floor,” declared Longsword. “Sure, the landlady’s wee bit of a daughter were telling me the names of all the flowers while ye and the captain were off to the commissioner’s this morning. Of course I couldn’t understand a word she said, but that made no differ at all, at all. Oh, yes, this is the house.” The window gardens settled it with Ethan, so they went up the high stone steps and beat a sharp rat-tat upon the big brass knocker. The Rue Constantine was dark; there were few people abroad, as the night was cold and the frozen snow upon the walks made the footing treacherous. Lights gleamed from a few windows, the curtains of which had not been drawn; now and then a vehicle would go rattling heavily by, crunching the ice under its wheels. The door opened and a bald old man with spectacles looked at them sharply from the threshold. “Where are you from?” he asked, in an odd sort of way. “The United States,” answered Ethan, wonderingly.