and far
between, and traversed only by a few homeward-bound pedestrians.
Emerging presently at the back of the Madeleine, we paused for a moment
to admire the noble building by moonlight; then struck across the Marche
aux Fleurs and took our way along the Boulevard.

"Are you tired, Damon?" said Dalrymple presently.

"Not in the least," I replied, with my head full of Madame de Marignan.

"Would you like to look in at an artists' club close by here, where I
have the _entree?_--queer place enough, but amusing to a stranger."

"Yes, very much."

"Come along, then; but first button up your overcoat to the throat, and
tie this colored scarf round your neck. See, I do the same. Now take off
your gloves--that's it. And give your hat the least possible inclination
to the left ear. You may turn up the bottoms of your trousers, if you
like--anything to look a little slangy."

"Is that necessary?"

"Indispensable--at all events in the honorable society of _Les
Chicards."_

"_Les Chicards_!" I repeated. "What are they?"

"It is the name of the club, and means--Heaven only knows what! for
Greek or Latin root it has none, and record of it there exists not,
unless in the dictionary of Argot. And yet if you were an old Parisian
and had matriculated for the last dozen years at the Bal de l'Opera, you
would know the illustrious Chicard by sight as familiarly as Punch, or
Paul Pry, or Pierrot. He is a gravely comic personage with a bandage
over one eye, a battered hat considerably inclining to the back of his
head, a coat with a high collar and long tails, and a _tout ensemble_
indescribably seedy--something between a street preacher and a
travelling showman. But here we are. Take care how you come down, and
mind your head."

Having turned aside some few minutes before into the Rue St. Honore, we
had thence diverged down a narrow street with a gutter running along the
middle and no foot-pavements on either side. The houses seemed to be
nearly all shops, some few of which, for the retailing of
_charbonnerie_, stale vegetables, uninviting cooked meats, and so forth,
were still open; but that before which we halted was closely shuttered
up, with only a private door open at the side, lighted by a single
oil-lamp. Following my friend for a couple of yards along the dim
passage within, I became aware of strange sounds, proceeding apparently
from the bowels of the earth, and found myself at the head of a steep
staircase, down which