“No more kings and queens nowadays,” remarked Mr. Hinkson, “this century’s got no use for them.”

I think the guide was a Monarchist.  “Nossir,” he said, “you don’t see no more kings an’ queens of France, but you do see a good many people travellin’ that’s nothin’ like so good for trade.”

At which Mr. Pabbley’s eye sought that of the guide, and expressed its appreciation in a marked and joyous wink.

In the Palace, especially in the picture rooms, there were generally benches along the walls.  When momma observed this she arranged that she should go on ahead and sit down and get the impression, while poppa and I caught up from time to time with the guide and the information.  The guide was quite agreeable about it, when it was explained to him.

He was either a very thoughtless or a very insincere person, however.  Stopping before the portrait of an officer in uniform, he drew us all together.  The Canadians, headed by Mr. Pabbley, were well to the fore, and it was to them in particular that he appeared to address himself when he said, “Take a good look at this picture, ladies and genelmen.  There is a man wat lives in your ‘istory an’, if I may say, in your ’art—­as he does in ours.  There’s a man, ladies and genelmen, that helped you on to liberty.  Take a good look at ’im, you’ll be glad to remember it afterward.”

And it was General Lafayette!

CHAPTER VII.

It was after dinner and we were sitting in the little courtyard of the hotel in the dark without our hats—­that is, momma and I; the Senator was seldom altogether without his hat.  I think he would have felt it to be a little indecent.  The courtyard was paved, and there were flowers on the stand in the middle of it, natural palms and artificial begonias mixed with the most annoying cleverness, and little tables for coffee cups or glasses were scattered about.  Outside beyond the hotel vestibule one could see and hear Paris rolling by in the gaslight.  It was the only place in the hotel that did not smell of furniture, so we frequented it.  So did Mr. Malt and Mrs. Malt, and Emmeline Malt, and Miss Callis.  That was chiefly how we made the acquaintance of the Malt party.  You can’t very well sit out in the dark in a foreign capital with a family from your own State and not get to know them.  Besides poppa never could overcome his feeling of indebtedness to Mr. Malt.  They were taking Emmeline abroad for her health.  She was the popular thirteen-year-old only child of American families, and she certainly was thin.  I remember being pleased, sometimes, considering her in her typical capacity, that I once had a little brother, though he died before I was born.