overcoat and, picking up the felt hat, left the room.

The corridor, despite the advent of the day, was still dark, save where
an occasional door stood ajar and a shaft of sun from the outer world
shot across the drab carpet; but Jean had been over the floor with his
broom while the hotel slept, and the battered tray with its suggestion
of sordid festivity had been removed. Even here the electric air of the
morning had made entry, and, yielding to its seduction, the boy gave
rein to his eagerness as he hurried forward to the head of the stairs
and laid his hand upon the meagre banister.

From the hall below the white light of the day ascended with subtle
invitation, while outside the world hummed with possibilities. He began
the descent, light as a Mercury, his feet scarcely touching the steps
that last night had offered so toilsome a progress, and on the third
floor he encountered Jean, bearing another tray laden with plates and
covered dishes.

At sight of the young face, the good creature's smile broke forth
irresistibly.

'Ah, but monsieur had slept!' The little eyes ran over the face and
figure of the guest with visible pleasure.

The boy laughed--the full, light-hearted laugh that belongs to the
beginning of things.

"Yes, I have slept; and now, you may believe, I have an appetite!"

Jean echoed the laugh with a spontaneity that held no disrespect. He