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50ARIADNE.Amphion was silent,thinking."Come with me," he said,and turned towardsthe quarter where the grey Seine was glidinginthe moonlight through Old Paris, the Paris ofPhilippe d'Orleans and of the Reine Isabeau.Somethingin the boy's look and the sound ofthe voice froze my bloodin my veins and nailedmy tongue to my throat.Ithought to see her lying dead, or perhaps tosee some nameless wooden cross above theditches where the friendless and forlorn heburied.Icould not ask him another word. Pales creptafter us wearily withher head hung down.Ihad forgotten that for tenhoursIhad nevereatennor drank.He took me to ahouse standing quite on thewater, with the towers and walls of the moreancient quarter close about it,and afew trees andthe masts of boats rising above their boughs.He chmbed a steep dark stairway, smelHng of allfoul'odours,andpausedup onhighbefore acloseddoor." Goin there," he said,and opened tbe door.