The Street of Our Lady of the Fields, Chapter 2

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​⁠“An’ you are pleas wiz Paris, Monsieur’ Astang?” demanded Madame Marotte the next morning as Hastings came into the breakfast-room of the pension, rosy from his plunge in the limited bath above.

“I am sure I shall like it,” he replied, wondering at his own depression of spirits.

The maid brought him coffee and rolls. He returned the vacant glance of the big-headed young man and acknowledged diffiden