They
had a quaintness which appealed to the fancy, and they were very restful.
The names of the streets recalled the monarchy that passed away in
bloodshed, and in _poudre de riz_. The very plane trees had a greater
sobriety than elsewhere, as though conscious they stood in a Paris where
progress was not. In front was the turbid Seine, and below, the twin
towers of Notre Dame. Susie could have kissed the hard paving stones of
the quay. Her good-natured, plain face lit up as she realized the delight
of the scene upon which her eyes rested; and it was with a little pang,
her mind aglow with characters and events from history and from fiction,
that she turned away to enter Dr Porhoet's house.
She was pleased that the approach did not clash with her fantasies. She
mounted a broad staircase, dark but roomy, and, at the command of the
_concierge_, rang a tinkling bell at one of the doorways that faced her.
Dr Porhoet opened in person..
'Arthur and Mademoiselle are already here,' he said, as he led her in.
They went through a prim French dining-room, with much woodwork and heavy
scarlet hangings, to the library.
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