F. HOPKINSON SMITH.

Paris, August, 1901.

[Illustration: (city rooftop scene)]

CHAPTER I

IN THE RUE VAUGIRARD

Like a dry brook, its cobblestone bed zigzagging past quaint shops and
cafes, the rue Vaugirard finds its way through the heart of the Latin
Quarter.

It is only one in a score of other busy little streets that intersect
the Quartier Latin; but as I live on the rue Vaugirard, or rather just
beside it, up an alley and in the corner of a picturesque old courtyard
leading to the "Lavoir Gabriel," a somewhat angelic name for a huge,
barn-like structure reeking in suds and steam, and noisy with gossiping
washerwomen who pay a few sous a day there for the privilege of doing
their washing--and as my studio windows (the big one with the north
light, and the other one a narrow slit reaching from the floor to the
high ceiling for the taking in of the big canvases one sees at the
Salon--which are never sold) overlook both alley and court, I can see
the life and bustle below.

[Illustration: LAVOIR GABRIEL]

This is not the Paris of Boulevards, ablaze with light and thronged with
travelers of the world, nor of big hotels and chic restaurants without
prices on the menus. In the latter the maitre d'hotel makes a mental
inventory of you when you arrive; and before you have reached your
coffee and cigar, or before madame has buttoned her gloves, this
well-shaved, dignified personage has passed sentence on you, and you pay
according to whatever he thinks you cannot afford. I knew a fellow once
who ordered a peach in winter at one of these smart taverns, and was
obliged to wire home for money the next day.

In the Quartier Latin the price is always such an important factor that
it is marked plainly, and often the garcon will remind you of the cost
of the dish you select in case you have not read aright, for in this
true Bohemia one's daily fortune is the one necessity so often lacking
that any error in regard to its expenditure is a serious matter.

In one of the well-known restaurants--here celebrated as a rendezvous
for artists--a waiter, as he took a certain millionaire's order for
asparagus, said: "Does monsieur know that asparagus costs five francs?"

At all times of the day and most of the night the rue Vaugirard is busy.
During the morning, push-carts loaded with red gooseberries, green peas,
fresh sardines, and mackerel, their sides shining like silver, line the
cur