ast, he will make his brief
apologies to you without slackening his pace, and go on to his plat du
jour and bottle of wine at his favorite rendezvous, dedicated to "The
Faithful Cocher." An hour later he emerges, well fed, revives his
knee-sprung horse, lights a fresh cigarette, cracks his whip like a
package of torpedoes, and goes clattering off in search of a customer.

[Illustration: (rooftop)]

The shops along the rue Vaugirard are marvels of neatness. The
butcher-shop, with its red front, is iron-barred like the lion's cage in
the circus. Inside the cage are some choice specimens of filets, rounds
of beef, death-masks of departed calves, cutlets, and chops in paper
pantalettes. On each article is placed a brass sign with the current
price thereon.

In Paris nothing is wasted. A placard outside the butcher's announces an
"Occasion" consisting of a mule and a donkey, both of guaranteed
"premiere qualite." And the butcher! A thick-set, powerfully built
fellow, with blue-black hair, curly like a bull's and shining in pomade,
with fierce mustache of the same dye, waxed to two formidable points
like skewers. Dangling over his white apron, and suspended by a heavy
chain about his waist, he carries the long steel spike which sharpens
his knives. All this paraphernalia gives him a very fierce appearance,
like the executioner in the play; but you will find him a mild, kindly
man after all, who takes his absinthe slowly, with a fund of good humor
after his day's work, and his family to Vincennes on Sundays.

The windows, too, of these little shops are studies in decoration. If it
happens to be a problem in eggs, cheese, butter, and milk, all these are
arranged artistically with fresh grape-leaves between the white rows of
milk bottles and under the cheese; often the leaves form a nest for the
white eggs (the fresh ones)--the hard-boiled ones are dyed a bright
crimson. There are china hearts, too, filled with "Double Cream," and
cream in little brown pots; Roquefort cheese and Camembert, Isijny, and
Pont Leveque, and chopped spinach.

[Illustration: (overloaded cart of baskets)]

Delicatessen shops display galantines of chicken, the windows banked
with shining cans of sardines and herrings from Dieppe; liver pates and
creations in jelly; tiny sausages of doubtful stuffing, and occasional
yellow ones like the odd fire-cracker of the pack.

[Illustration: (women at news stand)]

Grocery shops, their interiors resembling