the fires, gathered stray brushes from
the floor, changed the background drapery for the afternoon model,
rearranged the easels into afternoon position, and brought out glasses
and plates for the ladies, who lunched in the anteroom. And then a
looker-on in a Parisian atelier des dames would readily have understood
the words, "He's gone, girls!" even were that looker-on deafer than the
deafest old woman who ever mistook a thunder-clap for one of her lord's
champion snores. In the anteroom conversation ran during lunch in
various channels. Some of the ladies discussed the ever-absorbing topic
of the price of living, and boasted of marvellous exploits in the way of
economy. Other and fewer students, to whom money was as the dust upon
the bust of Pallas over the studio-door, talked of the last "first
representations" at the Francais, of Croisette's rapidly amplifying
figure, of Sarah Bernhardt's unnecessary immodesty in dressing Racine's
Andromaque, of the Grant reception at Healy's, of Lefevre's slipperiness
of texture, of the lack of the true sentiment of piety in Bouguereau's
religious pictures, of the harum-scarum amusements among the Americans
at Bonnat's atelier, and the latest gossip of the private studios.

[Illustration: SATURDAY EVE.]

"Want to know where you can buy just _h-e-a-venly_ cheese for a franc a
pound?" mumbles young Madame New Jersey with her mouth full of Gruyere.

"Where?" from several excited listeners.

"Over in the Latin Quarter, close by the Rue Jacob Brasserie, where so
many American students hold daily symposia."

"I'll go and buy a quarter of a pound this very evening," said Miss
Providence energetically.

"I too! I too! et moi aussi!" cried others of the many who lived _a la
Bohemienne_ in lofty mansards of _maisons meublees_, dining at cheap
restaurants, breakfasting by aid of spirit-lamps from corners of
dressing-tables and lunching on _charcuterie_ in the anteroom of the
Krug studio, searching high and low for "cheapness" as for a pearl of
great price.

"And pay twelve sous for your omnibus fare!" cried the practical little
Illinois maiden, Dixonia.

"Je suis a vous, mesdames," said the favorite model, Alphonse, at the
door.

"Alas, sweet Adonis! we have engaged our people for the next three
weeks."

"And I am desole, mesdames, that you have not want of me;" and the
graceful Alphonse melted away like a snow-wreath in a south wind.

At one o'clock came the sallow Frenchwoman,