the _Quartier_ regarding him. Not
only did he never borrow but sometimes gave whole francs in charity. One
evening an unseemly quarrel having arisen between two law-students from
Auvergne (the Boeotia of France) and the waiter as to an alleged
overcharge of two sous, Paragot arose in wrath, and dashing a louis on
the table with a "_Hercule paie-toi_," stalked majestically out of the
Cafe. A deputation waited on him next day with the object of refunding
the twenty francs. He refused (naturally) to take a penny. It would be a
lesson to them, said he, and they meekly accepted the rebuke.

"But what did you study here, before you went to sleep?" an impudent
believer in the Rip van Winkle theory once asked him.

"The lost arts of discretion and good manners, _mon petit_," retorted
Paragot, with a flash of his blue eyes which scorched the offender.

The students paid his score willingly, for in his talk they had full
value for their money. I found the Cafe Delphine a Lotus Club, with a
difference. Instead of being the scullion I was a member, and took my
seat with the rest, and, though none suspected it, paid for Paragot's
drinks with Paragot's money. Our real relations were never divulged. It
would affect both our positions, said he. To explain our friendship, it
was only necessary to say that we had met at Buda-Pesth where I had been
sent to study with the famous Izelin, who was a friend of Paragot's.

"My son," said he, "the fact of your being an Englishman who has studied
in Buda-Pesth and speaks French like a Frenchman will entitle you to
respect in the _Quartier_. Your previous acquaintance with me, on which
you need not insist too much, will bring you distinction."

And so it turned out. I felt that around me also hung a little air of
mystery, which was by no means unprofitable or unpleasant. To avoid
complications, however, and also in order that I should have the freedom
befitting my man's estate and my true education in the _Quartier_,
Paragot threw me out of the nest in the Rue des Saladiers, and assigning
to me a fixed allowance bade me seek my own shelter and make my way in
the world.

I made it as best I could, and the months went on.

* * * * *

Why I should have been dreaming outside the Hotel Bristol that
afternoon, I cannot remember. If to Paragot Paris was the Boulevard
Saint-Michel, to me it spread itself a vaster fairyland through which I
loved to wander, and before