found themselves at sunset of a beautiful day in a small village, and
with no possible way of getting back to Paris that night unless they
chose to walk fifteen miles to the nearest railway junction. After a
long day's tramp that seemed too much of a good thing.

So they looked about to find a shelter for the night. The village--it
was only a hamlet--had no hotel, no café, even. Finally an old peasant
said that old Mother Servin--a widow--living a mile up the road--had a
big house, lived alone, and could take them in,--if she wanted to,--he
could not say that she would.

It seemed to them worth trying, so they started off in high spirits to
tramp another mile, deciding that, if worse became worst--well--the
night was warm--they could sleep by the roadside under the stars.

It was near the hour when it should have been dark--but in France at
that season one can almost read out of doors until nine--when they
found the place. With some delay the gate in the stone wall was
opened, and they were face to face with the old widow.

It was a long argument, but the Doctor had a winning way, and at the
end they were taken in,--more, they were fed in the big clean
kitchen, and then each was sheltered in a huge room, with cement
floor, scrupulously clean, with the quaint old furniture and the queer
appointments of a French farmhouse.

The next morning, when the Doctor threw open the heavy wooden shutters
to his window, he gave a whistle of delight to find himself looking
out into what seemed to be a French Paradise--and better than that he
had never asked.