The luggage room was an immense place, stone-floored and rather damp.  There were several separate counters where passengers were supposed to attend to the checking of their baggage; but though there were plenty of officials and porters about, none of them seemed anxious or even willing to wait upon anybody.  Patty saw many people appeal to one man after another in a vain hope of getting their wants attended to.  But it seemed to be almost impossible.  To those who could not speak French the situation was hopeless indeed.  Patty watched one poor lady, who seemed to be travelling alone, and who continually inquired of the stolid and unobliging porters, “Do you speak English?” and invariably received the reply, “Non, madame; non, madame.”  The lonely little lady seemed to be in despair, and Patty wished she could help her, but she did not know herself what made the difficulty.  At last she discovered that it was necessary to get a customs inspector and a porter and a railway official all together in one place and at one time.  This done, the rest was easy, at least to the traveller who knew sufficient French to make his wants known.

This Mr. Farrington managed to accomplish after some delay.  The official ceremonies then being soon over, and our travellers having repeatedly declared that they were transporting nothing eatable, they were allowed to drive away in cabs.  The cabs in Paris are of the low, open pattern, like a victoria, and they looked very strange and informal to Patty, who had never seen any but closed cabs or hansoms.  Mr. and Mrs. Farrington rode in the first cab, which was followed by another, containing Patty and Elise, with Lisette, who sat on the small, folding front seat.

Patty held her breath with excitement when she realised that she was in Paris at last.

They drove through the streets, which were not very well lighted, gazing eagerly at the strange sights everywhere about them.

Their hotel was in the Place Vendome, and the drive there from the station was not through the beautiful boulevards, but through some narrow and not particularly clean streets.

But when they rolled into the Rue de la Paix and drove toward the Place Vendome, the girls began to think that Paris was beautiful, after all.

It was rather more than dusk, but not dark, and the great square, with its circumference of colonnaded buildings, and the wonderful column in the centre, was exceedingly impressive, and filled Patty’s soul with a rapturous awe.

“Oh, Elise,” she cried, grasping her companion’s hand; “I never supposed Paris would be like this!  I thought it would be bright and gay and festive; but instead of that, it’s grand and solemn and awe-inspiring.”

“So it is, here,” said Elise; “but there is plenty of brightness and gaiety in some parts of the city, I expect.  Of course, this is historic ground, and I suppose it was pretty much as it is now in the days when they were building French history.  That’s Napoleon on top of that statue, though you can’t recognise him from here.  You know about the column, of course.  It’s been overthrown and rebuilt three or four times.”