Suzanne, also divesting themselves of snow coverings, followed her. Then
John too went in, and once more closed a door between them and the
storm. He noticed that the great Antoine gave him a glance of strong
approval, and even the somber Suzanne seemed to be thawing.

John was sorry that the European hotels did not have a big lobby after
the American fashion. It would have given them a welcome now, but all
was as usual in the Hôtel de l'Europe, Chastel. There was the small
office for the cashier, and the smaller one for the bookkeeper. Near
them was the bureau and upon it lay an open register. Through an open
door beyond, the smoking-room was visible, and from where he stood John
could see French and English illustrated weeklies lying upon the tables.
Nothing had been taken, nothing was in disorder, the hotel was complete,
save that it was as bare as _Crusoe's_ deserted island. But John did not
feel any loneliness. Julie and the two Picards were with him, and the
aspect of the Hôtel de l'Europe changed all at once.

"We'll register first," said John. "I know it's customary to send a
waiter to the rooms for the names, but as our waiters have all gone out
we'll use the book now."

Pen and ink stood beside the register and he wrote in a bold hand:

_Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, Paris, France.
Mademoiselle Suzanne Picard, Paris, France.
Monsieur Antoine Picard, Paris, France.
Mr. John Scott, New York, U.S.A._

Julie looked over his shoulder.