M., under a blazing July sun, to
see if they did not give a matinee at the "Moulin Rouge." The place was
closed, it is needless to say, and the policeman I found pacing his beat
outside, when I asked him what day they gave a matinee, put his thumbs
in his sword belt, looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then
roared. The "Moulin Rouge" is in full blast every night; in the day-time
it is being aired.

Farther up in Montmartre, up a steep, cobbly hill, past quaint little
shops and cafes, the hill becoming so steep that your cab horse
finally refuses to climb further, and you get out and walk up to the
"Moulin de la Galette." You find it a far different type of ball from
the "Moulin Rouge," for it is not made for the stranger, and its
clientele is composed of the rougher element of that quarter.

[Illustration: (street scene)]

A few years ago the "Galette" was not the safest of places for a
stranger to go to alone. Since then, however, this ancient granary and
mill, that has served as a ball-room for so many years, has undergone a
radical change in management; but it is still a cliquey place, full of a
lot of habitues who regard a stranger as an intruder. Should you by
accident step on Marcelle's dress or jostle her villainous-looking
escort, you will be apt to get into a row, beginning with a mode of
attack you are possibly ignorant of, for these "maquereaux" fight with
their feet, having developed this "manly art" of self-defense to a point
of dexterity more to be evaded than admired. And while Marcelle's
escort, with a swinging kick, smashes your nose with his heel, his pals
will take the opportunity to kick you in the back.

So, if you go to the "Galette," go with a Parisian or some of the
students of the Quarter; but if you must go alone--keep your eyes on the
band. It is a good band, too, and its chef d'orchestre, besides being a
clever musical director, is a popular composer as well.

Go out from the ball-room into the tiny garden and up the ladder-like
stairs to the rock above, crowned with the old windmill, and look over
the iron railing. Far below you, swimming in a faint mist under the
summer stars, all Paris lies glittering at your feet.

* * * * *

You will find the "Bal Bullier" of the Latin Quarter far different from
the "bals" of Montmartre. It forms, with its "grand fete" on Thursday
nights, a sort of social event of the week in this Quarter of Bohemians,
just as the Fr