It is impossible for the sensible individual to see romance in this
entry into a third-rate Parisian hotel--to see daring or to see
danger--but the boy's heart was beating fast as the glass door swung
behind him, and his tongue was dry as he stepped into the little office
on the right of the poor hall.

Here in the office the story of the streets was repeated. A dingy
gas-jet shed a faint light, as though reluctantly awake; behind a small
partition, half counter, half desk, a wan and sleepy--looking man was
cowering over a stove. As the boy entered he looked up uncertainly, then
he rose and smiled, for your Parisian is exhausted indeed when he fails
to conjure up a smile.

"Good-day, monsieur!"

The words were a travesty in view of the miserable dawn, but the boy
took heart. There was greeting in the tone. He moistened his lips, which
felt dry as his tongue in his momentary nervousness, then he stepped
closer to the counter.

"Good-day, monsieur! I require a bedroom."

"A bedroom? But certainly, monsieur!" The shrewd though tired eyes of
the man passed over his visitor's clothes and the valise in his hand.
"We can give you a most excellent room at"--he raised his eyebrows in
tactful hesitation--"at five francs?"

The boy's eyes opened in genuine, instant surprise. "For so little?" he
exclaimed. Then, covered with confusion, he reddened furiously and