THE OPEN DOOR 



quite inessential to the spectator. His appreciation 

 is only slightly and indirectly' influenced by these 

 things. Sunk in his arm-chair of velvet or of 

 canvas he puffs hard and silently at his cigar, 

 watching and listening as the pageant and the 

 conversation eddy by. 



Of such hotels I number that gaudy and poly- 

 syllabic hostelry the Grand Hotel du Louvre et de 

 la Paix at Marseilles. I am indifferent to the facts 

 that it is situated on that fine thoroughfare, the 

 Rue de Cannebiere, which the proud and untravelled 

 native devoutly believes to be the finest street in 

 the world; that it possesses a dining-room of gilded 

 and painted repousse work so elaborate and won- 

 derful that it surely must be intended to represent 

 a tinsmith's dream of heaven; that its concierge is 

 the most impressive human being on earth except 

 Ludwig Von Kampf, whom I have never seen; 

 that its head waiter is sadder and more elderly 

 and forgiving than any other head waiter; and that 

 its hushed and cathedral atmosphere has been 

 undisturbed through immemorial years. That is 

 to be expected; and elsewhere to be duplicated in 

 greater or lesser degree. Nor in the lofty courtyard, 

 or the equally lofty halls and reading rooms, is there 

 ever much bustle and movement. People sit 

 quietly, or move with circumspection. Servants 



5 



