of the hotel.


CHAPTER II.

In the Salon.


He had left it in the morning dewy, silent, almost deserted;
he found it full of gaiety and life and movement, talking,
laughing, and smoking going on, pretty bright dresses glancing
amongst the trees, children swinging under the great branches,
the flickering lights and shadows dancing on their white
frocks and curly heads, white-capped bonnes dangling their
_bébés_, papas drinking coffee and liqueurs at the little
tables, mammas talking the latest Liége scandal, and
discussing the newest Parisian fashions. The table-d'hôte
dinner was just over, and everybody had come out to enjoy the
air, till it was time for the dancing to begin.

The glass door leading into the passage that ran through the
house stood wide open; so did the great hall door at the other
end; and Graham could see the courtyard full of sunshine, the
iron railing separating it from the road, the river gleaming,
the bridge and railway station beyond, and then again the
background of hills. He passed through the house, and went out
into the courtyard. Here were more people, more gay dresses,
gossip, cigars, and coffee; more benches and tables set in the
scanty shade of the formal round-topped trees that stood in
square green boxes round the paved quadrangle. Outside in the