urs before him. He wanted to look about him. He passed
in front of taverns frequented by belated bohemians, gazing at the
different faces, seeking to discover the artists. Finally, he came to
the sign of "The Dead Rat," and, allured by the name, he entered.

Five or six women, with their elbows resting on the marble tables, were
talking in low tones about their love affairs, the quarrels of Lucie
and Hortense, and the scoundrelism of Octave. They were no longer young,
were too fat or too thin, tired out, used up. You could see that they
were almost bald; and they drank beer like men.

M. Saval sat down at some distance from them and waited, for the hour
for taking absinthe was at hand.

A tall young man soon came in and took a seat beside him. The landlady
called him M. "Romantin." The notary quivered. Was this the Romantin who
had taken a medal at the last Salon?

The young man made a sign to the waiter.

"You will bring up my dinner at once, and then carry to my new studio,
15 Boulevard de Clichy, thirty bottles of beer, and the ham I ordered
this morning. We are going to have a housewarming."

M. Saval immediately ordered dinner. Then, he took off his overcoat, so
that his dress suit and his white tie could be seen. His neighbor did
not seem to notice him. He had taken up a newspaper, and was reading it.
M. Saval glanced sideways at him, burning with the desire to speak to
him.

Two young men entered, in red vests and with peaked beards, in the
fashion of Henry III. They sat down opposite Romantin.

The first of the pair said:

"Is it for this evening?"

Romantin pressed his hand.

"I believe you, old chap, and everyone will be there. I have Bonnat,
Guillemet, Gervex, Beraud, Hebert, Duez, Clairin, and Jean-Paul Laurens.
It will be a stunning affair! And women, too! Wait till you see! Every
actress without exception--of course I mean, you know, all those who
have nothing to do this evening."

The landlord of the establishment came across.

"Do you often have this housewarming?"

The painter replied:

"I believe you, every three months, each quarter."

M. Saval could not restrain himself any longer, and in a hesitating
voice said:

"I beg your pardon for intruding on you, monsieur, but I heard your
name mentioned, and I would be very glad to know if you really are M.
Romantin, whose work in the last Salon I have so much admired?"

The painter answered:

"I am the very person, monsieur."

The