t over-full; and the company consisted
mainly of Parisian blue blouses, little foot-soldiers, grisettes (for
there were grisettes in those days, and plenty of them), with a
sprinkling of farm-boys and dairy-maids from the villages round about.
We found this select society caracoling round the booth in a thundering
galop, on first going in. After the galop, the conductor announced a
_valse a deux temps_. The band struck up--one--two--three. Away went
some thirty couples--away went Mueller and the fair Marie--and away went
the chronicler of this modest biography with a pretty little girl in
green boots who waltzed remarkably well, and who deserted him in the
middle of the dance for a hideous little French soldier about four feet
and a half high.

After this rebuff (having learned, notwithstanding my friend's
representations to the contrary, that a train ran from Courbevoie to
Paris every half-hour up till midnight) I slipped away, leaving Mueller
and _ma cousine_ in the midst of a furious flirtation, and Madame
Marotte fast asleep in her corner.

The clocks were just striking twelve as I passed under the archway
leading to the Cite Bergere.

"_Tiens_!" said the fat concierge, as she gave me my key and my candle.
"Monsieur has perhaps been to the theatre this evening? No!--to the
country--to the fete at Courbevoie! Ah, then, I'll be sworn that M'sieur
has had plenty of fun!"

But had I had plenty of fun? That was the question. That Mueller had had
plenty of flirting and plenty of fun was a fact beyond the reach of
doubt. But a flirtation, after all, unless in a one-act comedy, is not
entertaining to the mere looker-on; and oh! must not those bridesmaids
who sometimes accompany a happy couple in their wedding-tour, have a
dreary time of it?

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE ECOLE DE NATATION.

It seemed to me that I had but just closed my eyes, when I was waked by
a hand upon my shoulder, and a voice calling me by my name. I started up
to find the early sunshine pouring in at the window, and Franz Mueller
standing by my bedside.

"_Tiens_!" said he. "How lovely are the slumbers of innocence! I was
hesitating, _mon cher_, whether to wake or sketch you."

I muttered something between a growl and a yawn, to the effect that I
should have been better satisfied if he had left me alone.

"You prefer everything that is basely self-indulgent, young man,"
replied Mueller, making a divan of my bed, and coolly lighting his pipe
un