all about him. Chastel was off the great highways, but many quiet
tourists must have come here. The beautiful cathedral, the picturesque
situation of the little town above the little river and the very ancient
Gothic buildings must have been an attraction to the knowing. He could
shut his eyes and see them now, many of them his own countrymen and
countrywomen, walking in the halls after a day of sightseeing, comparing
notes, or looking through the windows down at the little river that
foamed below. Yes, Chastel had been a pleasant town and one could pass
many days in right company in its Hôtel de l'Europe.

"What are you smiling at, Mr. John?" asked Julie.

It was the first time she had called him "Mr. John," the equivalent for
his "Miss Julie," and he liked it. But he hid his pleasure and
apparently took no notice of it.

"I was seeing our hotel in times of peace," he said. "It was a sort of
mental transference, I suppose, but the place looked good to me. It was
crowded with people, many of whom were from America, and some of whom I
would like to know. I've never had a horror of tourists--in fact I think
the horror of them that most people pretend to feel is a sort of
affectation, a false attempt at superiority--and I always liked, when I
was a sightseer myself, to come back to the hotel in the evening and
meet the cheerful crowd full of chatter and gossip."

"That is what I should want to do if ever I should go to America. They
say that your distances there are great and your hotels large and
bright. I shouldn't want to miss seeing the people in the evenings under
the blazing electric lights."