At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had
boarded with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the
previous fall, he had married a widow lady with two children, and
was now keeping house in a French flat in the upper part of the
city. We had called upon the happy couple soon after their
marriage, and the letter, now received, contained an invitation for
us to come and dine, and spend the night.

"We'll go," said Euphemia. "There's nothing I want so much as to
see how people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it.
And I must see those children." So we went.

The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was
very tall indeed--the tallest house in the neighborhood. We
entered the vestibule, the outer door being open, and beheld, on
one side of us, a row of bell-handles. Above each of these handles
was the mouth of a speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little
glazed frame containing a visiting-card.

"Isn't this cute?" said Euphemia, reading over the cards. "Here's
his name and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first,
ring or blow?"

"My dear," said I, "you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring
the bell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and
instead of coming to the door, some one will call down the tube to
us."

I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at