lowers, and all sorts of
elegant superfluities, most of which have descended to the merchants of
the Temple through the hands of ladies-maids and valets. Yonder lies the
district called the 'Foret Noire'--a land of unpleasing atmosphere
inhabited by cobblers and clothes-menders. Down to the left you see
nothing but rag and bottle-shops, old iron stores, and lumber of every
kind. Here you find chiefly household articles, bedding, upholstery,
crockery, and so forth."

"What will you buy, Messieurs?" continued to be the cry, as we moved
along arm-in-arm, elbowing our way through the crowd, and exploring this
singular scene in all directions.

"What will you buy, messieurs?" shouts one salesman. "A carpet? A
capital carpet, neither too large nor too small. Just the size
you want!"

"A hat, m'sieur, better than new," cries another; "just aired by the
last owner."

"A coat that will fit you better than if it had been made for you?"

"A pair of boots? Dress-boots, dancing-boots, walking-boots,
morning-boots, evening-boots, riding-boots, fishing-boots,
hunting-boots. All sorts, m'sieur--all sorts!"

"A cloak, m'sieur?"

"A lace shawl to take home to Madame?"

"An umbrella, m'sieur?"

"A reading lamp?"

"A warming-pan?"

"A pair of gloves?"

"A shower bath?"

"A hand organ?"

"What! m'sieurs, do you buy nothing this evening? Hola, Antoine!
monsieur keeps his hands in his pockets, for fear his money should
fall out!"

"Bah! They've not a centime between them!"

"Go down the next turning and have the hole in your coat mended!"

"Make way there for monsieur the millionaire!"

"They are ambassadors on their way to the Court of Persia."

"_Ohe! Pane! pane! pane!_"

Thus we run the gauntlet of all the tongues in the Temple, sometimes
retorting, sometimes laughing and passing on, sometimes stopping to
watch the issue of a dispute or the clinching of a bargain.

"_Dame_, now! if it were only ten francs cheaper," says a voice that
strikes my ear with a sudden sense of familiarity. Turning, I discover
that the voice belongs to a young woman close at my elbow, and that the
remark is addressed to a good-looking workman upon whose arm she
is leaning.

"What, Josephine!" I exclaim.

"_Comment_! Monsieur Basil!"

And I find myself kissed on both cheeks before I even guess what is
going to happen to me.

"Have I not also the honor of being remembered by Mademoiselle?" says
Mueller, taking off his hat with al