"The Hôtel Railleux, in the rue de Dunkerque."

"Not a very festive locality! But sufficient for the day, eh? Well, I'll
be outside the door of the Hôtel Railleux at nine o'clock."

"At nine o'clock. I shall be awaiting you."

"Right again! Good-bye! It's been a good morning."

Max smiled, a smile that seemed to have caught something of the sun's
brightness, something of the promise of spring trembling in the pale
sky.

"It has been a good morning. I shall never forget it."

Blake laughed. "Don't say that, boy! We'll oust it with many a better."

He released the boy's hand and gave the address to the chauffeur. There
was a moment's pause, a rasp and wrench of machinery, and the willing
little cab flew off toward the nearest bridge.

Max stood watching it, obsessed by a strange sensation. This morning he
had been utterly alone; this morning the fair, cold face of Paris had
been immobile and speculative. Now a miracle had come to pass; the
coldness had been swept aside and the beauty, the warm, palpitating
humanity had shone into his eyes, dazzling him--fascinating him.