out
the value of our neighbour's work.'

'Tell me who everyone is.'

'Well, look at that little bald man in the corner. That is Warren.'

Arthur looked at the man she pointed out. He was a small person, with
a pate as shining as a billiard-ball, and a pointed beard. He had
protruding, brilliant eyes.

'Hasn't he had too much to drink?' asked Arthur frigidly.

'Much,' answered Susie promptly, 'but he's always in that condition, and
the further he gets from sobriety the more charming he is. He's the only
man in this room of whom you'll never hear a word of evil. The strange
thing is that he's very nearly a great painter. He has the most
fascinating sense of colour in the world, and the more intoxicated he is,
the more delicate and beautiful is his painting. Sometimes, after more
than the usual number of _aperitifs_, he will sit down in a cafe to do a
sketch, with his hand so shaky that he can hardly hold a brush; he has to
wait for a favourable moment, and then he makes a jab at the panel. And
the immoral thing is that each of these little jabs is lovely. He's the
most delightful interpreter of Paris I know, and when you've seen his
sketches--he's done hundreds, of unimaginable grace and feeling and
distinction--you can never see Paris in the same way again.'

The little maid who looked busily after the varied wants of the customers
stood in front of them to receive Arthur's order. She was a hard-visaged
creature of mature age, but she looked neat in her black dress and white
cap; and she had a motherly way of attending to these people, with a
capacious smile of her large mouth which was full of charm.

'I don't mind what I eat,' said Arthur. 'Let Margaret order my dinner for
me.'

'It would have been just as good if I had ordered it,' laughed Susie.

They began a lively discussion with Marie as to the merits of the various
dishes, and it was only interrupted by Warren's hilarious expostulations.

'Marie, I precipitate myself at your feet, and beg you to bring me a
_poule au riz_.'

'Oh, but give me one moment, _monsieur_,' said the maid.

'Do not pay any attention to that gentleman. His morals are detestable,
and he only seeks to lead you from the narrow path of virtue.'

Arthur protested that on the contrary the passion of hunger occupied at
that moment his heart to the exclusion of all others.

'Marie, you no longer love me,' cried Warren. 'There was a time when you
did not look so coldly upon me when I