I do not pretend to know anything about Paris.  Some spots in the mystic labyrinth stand out to memory, such as that open space where the guillotine had done its work, the site of the Bastille, and a long street leading from the place of the Bastille, parallel with the river; and this I have good reason to remember.  It is called Rue St. Antoine.  I learned well, also, a certain prison, and a part of the ancient city called Faubourg St. Germain.  One who can strike obscure trails in the wilderness of nature, may blunt his fine instincts on the wilderness of man.

This did not befall the Indian.  He took a bee line upon his old tracks, and when the place was sighted we threaded what seemed to be a rivulet between cliffs, for a moist depressed street-center kept us straddling something like a gutter, while with outstretched hands we could brace the opposite walls.

We entered a small court where a gruff man, called a concierge, having a dirty kerchief around his head, received us doubtfully.  He was not the concierge of Skenedonk’s day.  We showed him coin; and Doctor Chantry sat down in his chair and looked at him with such contempt that his respect increased.

The house was clean, and all the stairs we climbed to the roof were well scoured.  From the mansard there was a beautiful view of Paris, with forest growth drawing close to the heart of the city.  For on that side of the world men dare not murder trees, but are obliged to respect and cherish them.

My poor master stretched himself on a bed by the stooping wall, and in disgust of life and great pain of feet, begged us to order a pan of charcoal and let him die the true Parisian death when that is not met on the scaffold.  Skenedonk said to me in Iroquois that Doctor Chantry was a sick old woman who ought to be hidden some place to die, and it was his opinion that the blessing of the church would absolve us.  We could then make use of the pouch of coin to carry on my plans.

My plans were more ridiculous than Skenedonk’s.  His at least took sober shape, while mine were still the wild emotions of a young man’s mind.  Many an hour I had spent on the ship, watching the foam speed past her side, trying to foresee my course like hers in a trackless world.  But it seemed I must wait alertly for what destiny was making mine.

We paid for our lodgings, three commodious rooms, though in the mansard; my secretary dragging himself to sit erect with groans and record the increasing debt of myself and my servant.

“Come, Skenedonk,” I then said.  “Let us go down to the earth and buy something that Doctor Chantry can eat.”