CHAP. I. THE WOMAN OF STONE II. THE CHEMISTRY OF ANARCHY III. THE FEAR OF IT IV. THE METAMORPHOSES OF JOHNSON V. THE RECLAMATION OF JOE HOLLENDS VI. THE TYPE-WRITTEN LETTER VII. THE DOOM OF LONDON VIII. THE PREDICAMENT OF DE PLONVILLE IX. A NEW EXPLOSIVE X. THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY XI. DEATH COMETH SOON OR LATE XII. HIGH STAKES XIII. "WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS" XIV. THE DEPARTURE OF CUB MCLEAN XV. OLD NUMBER EIGHTY-SIX XVI. PLAYING WITH MARKED CARDS XVII. THE BRUISER’S COURTSHIP XVIII. THE RAID ON MELLISH XIX. STRIKING BACK XX. CRANDALL’S CHOICE XXI. THE FAILURE OF BRADLEY XXII. RINGAMY’S CONVERT XXIII. A SLIPPERY CUSTOMER XXIV. THE SIXTH BENCH
The Personal Conductor: "It is a statue of no importance whatever."
The Personally Conducted: "Yes, but what does it mean?"
The Personal Conductor: "I don’t suppose it means anything in particular. It is not by any well-known artist and the guidebooks say nothing about it."
The Personally Conducted: "Perhaps the sculptor intended to typify life; the tragic face representing one side of existence and the comic mask another."
The Personal Conductor: "Very likely. This way to the Louvre, if you please."
THE WOMAN OF STONE.
Lurine, was pretty, petite, and eighteen. She had a nice situation at the Pharmacie de Siam, in the Rue St. Honoré. She had no one dependent upon her, and all the money she earned was her own. Her dress was of cheap material perhaps, but it was cut and fitted with that daintiness of perfection which seems to be the natural gift of the Parisienne, so that one never thought of the cheapness, but admired only the effect, which was charming. She was book-keeper and general assistant at the Pharmacie, and had a little room of her own across the Seine, in the Rue de Lille. She crossed the river twice every day–once in the morning when the sun was shining, and again at night when the radiant lights along the river’s bank glittered like jewels in a long necklace. She had her little walk through the Gardens of the Tuileries every morning after crossing the Pont Royal, but she did not return through the gardens in the evening, for a park in the morning is a different thing to a park at night. On her return she always walked along the Rue de Tuileries until she came to the bridge. Her morning ramble through the gardens was a daily delight to her, for the
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