Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. Here it is. “You seem to have come from Miss Pellissier’s rooms. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. She laughed a little bitterly. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way.
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