disclose my place of residence for the time being. All these points were
as nearly provided for as, they could be. I need not trouble you about
my arrangements for passports. It is enough to say that the point I
selected for our flight was, in the spirit of romance, one of the most
beautiful and sequestered nooks in Switzerland.

Luggage, I should start with none. The first considerable town we
reached next morning, would supply an extemporized wardrobe. It was now
two o'clock; _only_ two! How on earth was I to dispose of the
remainder of the day?

I had not yet seen the cathedral of Notre Dame, and thither I drove. I
spent an hour or more there; and then to the Conciergerie, the Palais de
Justice, and the beautiful Sainte Chapelle. Still there remained some
time to get rid of, and I strolled into the narrow streets adjoining the
cathedral. I recollect seeing, in one of them, an old house with a mural
inscription stating that it had been the residence of Canon Fulbert, the
uncle of Abelard's Eloise. I don't know whether these curious old
streets, in which I observed fragments of ancient Gothic churches fitted
up as warehouses, are still extant. I lighted, among other dingy and
eccentric shops, upon one that seemed that of a broker of all sorts of
old decorations, armor, china, furniture. I entered the shop; it was
dark, dusty, and low. The proprietor was busy scouring a piece of inlaid
armor, and allowed me to poke about his shop, and examine the curious
things accumulated there, just as I pleased. Gradually I made my way to
the farther end of it, where there was but one window with many panes,
each with a bull's eye in it, and in the dirtiest Possible state. When I
reached this window, I turned about, and in a recess, standing at right
angles with the side wall of the shop, was a large mirror in an
old-fashioned dingy frame. Reflected in this I saw what in old houses I