Within the half hour we stopped again—­in front of another silk store.  We were angry; but the doctor was always serene, always smooth-voiced.  He said: 

“At last!  How imposing the Louvre is, and yet how small!  How exquisitely fashioned!  How charmingly situated!—­Venerable, venerable pile—­”

“Pairdon, Doctor, zis is not ze Louvre—­it is—­”

“What is it?”

“I have ze idea—­it come to me in a moment—­zat ze silk in zis magazin—­”

“Ferguson, how heedless I am.  I fully intended to tell you that we did not wish to buy any silks to-day, and I also intended to tell you that we yearned to go immediately to the palace of the Louvre, but enjoying the happiness of seeing you devour four breakfasts this morning has so filled me with pleasurable emotions that I neglect the commonest interests of the time.  However, we will proceed now to the Louvre, Ferguson.”

“But, doctor,” (excitedly,) “it will take not a minute—­not but one small minute!  Ze gentleman need not to buy if he not wish to—­but only look at ze silk—­look at ze beautiful fabric. [Then pleadingly.] Sair—­just only one leetle moment!”

Dan said, “Confound the idiot!  I don’t want to see any silks today, and I won’t look at them.  Drive on.”

And the doctor:  “We need no silks now, Ferguson.  Our hearts yearn for the Louvre.  Let us journey on—­let us journey on.”

“But doctor!  It is only one moment—­one leetle moment.  And ze time will be save—­entirely save!  Because zere is nothing to see now—­it is too late.  It want ten minute to four and ze Louvre close at four—­only one leetle moment, Doctor!”

The treacherous miscreant!  After four breakfasts and a gallon of champagne, to serve us such a scurvy trick.  We got no sight of the countless treasures of art in the Louvre galleries that day, and our only poor little satisfaction was in the reflection that Ferguson sold not a solitary silk dress pattern.

I am writing this chapter partly for the satisfaction of abusing that accomplished knave Billfinger, and partly to show whosoever shall read this how Americans fare at the hands of the Paris guides and what sort of people Paris guides are.  It need not be supposed that we were a stupider or an easier prey than our countrymen generally are, for we were not.  The guides deceive and defraud every American who goes to Paris for the first time and sees its sights alone or in company with others as little experienced as himself.  I shall visit Paris again someday, and then let the guides beware!  I shall go in my war paint—­I shall carry my tomahawk along.