"Yes.--But so I had then, Mr. Carleton--only sometimes I got those fits of feeling--I forgot it, I suppose."
"When were these verses written?"
"Last fall;--uncle Rolf was away, and aunt Lucy unhappy,--and I believe I was tired--I suppose it was that."
For a matter of several rods each was busy with his own musings. But Mr. Carleton bethought himself.
"Where are you, Elfie?"
"Where am I?"
"Yes--Not at Queechy?"
"No indeed," said Fleda laughing. "Far enough away."
"Where?"
"At Paris--at the Marché des Innocens."