. "Would to Heaven you had taken
prussic acid!"

"_Qu'est ce que c'est?"_ asked she.

But it was not worth while to reply. I gave myself up to my fate. I
determined to remonstrate no more. I flung myself on a seat at the back
of the box, and made up my mind to bear all that might yet be in store
for me. When she openly ate a stick of _sucre d'orge_ after this, I said
nothing. When she applauded with both hands, I endured in silence. At
length the performance came to a close and the curtain fell. Madame de
Marignan had left before the last act, so I ran no danger of
encountering her on the way out; but I was profoundly miserable,
nevertheless. As for Josephine, she, poor child, had not enjoyed her
evening at all, and was naturally out of temper. We quarrelled
tremendously in the cab, and parted without having made it up. It was
all my own fault. How could I be such a fool as to suppose that, with a
few shreds and patches of finery, I could make a fine lady of
a grisette?

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXII.

HIGH ART IN THE QUARTIER LATIN.

"But, my dear fellow, what else could you have expected? You took
Mam'selle Josephine to the _Opera Comique. Eh bien!_ you might as well
have taken an oyster up Mount Vesuvius. Our fair friend was out of her
element. _Voila tout_."

"Confound her and her element!" I exclaimed with a groan. "What the
deuce _is_ her element--the Quartier Latin?"

"The Quartier Latin is to some extent her habitat--but then Mam'selle
Josephine belongs to a genus of which you, _cher_ Monsieur Arbuthnot,
are deplorably ignorant--the genus grisette. The grisette from a certain
point of view is the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of Parisian industry; the bouquet
of Parisian civilization. She is indigenous to the _mansarde_ and the
_pave_--bears no transplantation--flourishes in _the premiere balconie_,
the suburban _guingette_, and the Salle Valentinois; but degenerates at
a higher elevation. To improve her is to spoil her. In her white cap and
muslin gown, the Parisian grisette is simply delicious. In a smart
bonnet, a Cashmere and a brougham, she is simply detestable. Fine
clothes vulgarize her. Fine surroundings demoralize her. Lodged on the
sixth story, rich in the possession of a cuckoo-clock, a canary, half a
dozen pots of mignonette, and some bits of cheap furniture in imitation
mahogany, she has every virtue and every fault that is charming in
woman--childlike gaiety; coquetry; tho