more abandoned.  Soot and prickly dust flew in unceasingly at the open windows.  The train stopped at Bonnard, Chemilly, and Moneteau, each time before a waiting crowd that invaded it.  And at last, in the great station at Auxerre, it poured out an incredible mass of befouled humanity that spread over everything like an inundation.  Sophia was frightened.  Gerald left the initiative to Chirac, and Chirac took her arm and led her forward, looking behind him to see that Gerald followed with the valise.  Frenzy seemed to reign in Auxerre.

The driver of a cab demanded ten francs for transporting them to the Hotel de l’Epee.

“Bah!” scornfully exclaimed Chirac, in his quality of experienced Parisian who is not to be exploited by heavy-witted provincials.

But the driver of the next cab demanded twelve francs.

“Jump in,” said Gerald to Sophia.  Chirac lifted his eyebrows.

At the same moment a tall, stout man with the hard face of a flourishing scoundrel, and a young, pallid girl on his arm, pushed aside both Gerald and Chirac and got into the cab with his companion.

Chirac protested, telling him that the cab was already engaged.

The usurper scowled and swore, and the young girl laughed boldly.

Sophia, shrinking, expected her escort to execute justice heroic and final; but she was disappointed.

“Brute!” murmured Chirac, and shrugged his shoulders, as the carriage drove off, leaving them foolish on the kerb.

By this time all the other cabs had been seized.  They walked to the Hotel de l’Epee, jostled by the crowd, Sophia and Chirac in front, and Gerald following with the valise, whose weight caused him to lean over to the right and his left arm to rise.  The avenue was long, straight, and misty with a floating dust.  Sophia had a vivid sense of the romantic.  They saw towers and spires, and Chirac talked to her slowly and carefully of the cathedral and the famous churches.  He said that the stained glass was marvellous, and with much care he catalogued for her all the things she must visit.  They crossed a river.  She felt as though she was stepping into the middle age.  At intervals Gerald changed the valise from hand to hand; obstinately, he would not let Chirac touch it.  They struggled upwards, through narrow curving streets.

“Voila!” said Chirac.

They were in front of the Hotel de l’Epee.  Across the street was a cafe crammed with people.  Several carriages stood in front.  The Hotel de l’Epee had a reassuring air of mellow respectability, such as Chirac had claimed for it.  He had suggested this hotel for Madame Scales because it was not near the place of execution.  Gerald had said, “Of course!  Of course!” Chirac, who did not mean to go to bed, required no room for himself.

The Hotel de l’Epee had one room to offer, at the price of twenty-five francs.

Gerald revolted at the attempted imposition.  “A nice thing!” he grumbled, “that ordinary travellers can’t get a decent room at a decent price just because some one’s going to be guillotined to-morrow!  We’ll try elsewhere!”