conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, and were entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit us at all.
At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had boarded with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the previous fall, he had married a widow lady with two children, and was now keeping house in a French flat in the upper part of the city. We had called upon the happy couple soon after their marriage, and the letter, now received, contained an invitation for us to come and dine, and spend the night.
“We'll go,” said Euphemia. “There's nothing I want so much as to see how people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. And I must see those children.” So we went.
The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was very tall indeed—the tallest house in the neighborhood. We entered the vestibule, the outer door being open, and beheld, on one side of us, a row of bell-handles. Above each of these handles was the mouth of a speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little glazed frame containing a visiting-card.
“Isn't this cute?” said Euphemia, reading over the cards. “Here's his name and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, ring or blow?”
“My dear,” said I, “you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring the bell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and instead of coming to the door, some one will call down the tube to us.”
I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at the tube said:
“Well?”
Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened.
“Why, their flat must be right here,” whispered Euphemia. “How quickly the girl came!”
And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one there.
“Their flat is on the fifth story,” said I. “He mentioned that in his letter. We had better shut the door and go up.”
Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we saw or heard.
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