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ol, and thanked him as though he had preserved her from legions of dragons. The last she saw of him as she drove off was in the act of maj

estically sweeping back a group of idlers who had

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halted to witness the touching farewell. The old cab jolted and swerved through blazing vistas of unimagined thoroughfares; over bridges

spanning mysterious stretches of dark waters and c

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onnecting looming masses of gigantic buildings; and through more streets garish with light and apparent revelry. Realisation of its glory

came with a little sob of joy. She was in Paris, t

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he Wonderland of Paris transcending all her dreams. Brant?me and Chartres seemed afar off. She had the sensation of a butterfly escaping f

rom the chrysalis. She had been a butterfly for ag

es. What unremembered kind of state had been her grub condition? Thrills of excitement swept her little body. She was throbbingly happy. And at the end of the magic journey she would meet her father, marvel among men, and her moth

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er, the strange, sweet, mystical being, the enchanted princess of her childish visions, the warm, spiritual, all understanding, all embracing woman of her maiden longings. The streets gre

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w narrower, less important. They were passing through the poor neighbourhood east of the Place de la Bastille. Fairyland suffered a sinister touch. Slight fears again assailed her. Some of

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the streets appeared dark and suspect. Evil-looking folk haunted the pavements. She wondered, with a catch of the breath, whither she was being driven. At last the cab swung into a street