THE BLACK HUT AT BAR



CHAPTER I


THE TRAVELLER

The war had stopped.

The King of England was in Paris, and the President of the United States
was hourly expected.

Humbler guests poured each night from the termini into the overflowing
city, and sought anxiously for some bed, lounge-chair, or pillowed
corner, in which to rest until the morning. Stretched upon the table in
a branch of the Y.W.C.A. lay a young woman from England whose clothes
were of brand-new khaki, and whose name was Fanny.

She had arrived that night at the Gare du Nord at eight o'clock, and the
following night at eight o'clock she left Paris by the Gare de l'Est.

Just as she entered the station a small boy with a basket of violets for
sale held a bunch to her face.

"No, thank you."

He pursued her and held it against her chin.