e
above a whisper when the curtain is up.

The vaudeville that follows is, to say the least of it, a perplexing
performance. It has no plot in particular. The scene is laid in a
lodging-house, and the discomforts of one Monsieur Choufleur, an elderly
gentleman in a flowered dressing-gown and a gigantic nightcap, furnish
forth all the humor of the piece. What Monsieur Choufleur has done to
deserve his discomforts, and why a certain student named Charles should
devote all the powers of his mind to the devising and inflicting of
those discomforts, is a mystery which we, the audience, are never
permitted to penetrate. Enough that Charles, being a youth of
mischievous tastes and extensive wardrobe, assumes a series of disguises
for the express purpose of tormenting Monsieur Choufleur, and is
unaccountably rewarded in the end with the hand of Monsieur Choufleur's
daughter; a consummation which brings down the curtain amid loud
applause, and affords entire satisfaction to everybody.

It is by this time close upon midnight, and, leaving the theatre with
the rest of the audience, we find a light rain falling. The noisy
thoroughfare is hushed to comparative quiet. The carriages that roll by
are homeward bound. The waiters yawn at the doors of the cafes and
survey pedestrians with a threatening aspect. The theatres are closing
fast, and a row of flickering gas-lamps in front of a faded transparency
which proclaims that the juvenile _Tableaux Vivants_ are to be seen
within, denotes the only place of public amusement yet open to the
curious along the whole length of the Boulevart du Temple.

"And now, _amigo_, where shall we go?" says Mueller. "Are you for a
billiard-room or a lobster supper? Or shall we beat up the quarters of
some of the fellows in the Quartier Latin, and see what fun is afoot on
the other side of the water?"

"Whichever you please. You are my guest to-night, and I am at your
disposal."

"Or what say you to dropping in for an hour among the Chicards?"

"A capital idea--especially if you again entertain the society with a
true story of events that never happened."

"_Allons donc_!--

'C'etait de mon temps
Que brillait Madame Gregoire.
J'allais a vingt ans
Dans son cabaret rire et boire.'

--confound this drizzle! It soaks one through and through, like a
sponge. If you are no fonder of getting wet through than I am, I vote we
both run for it!"

With this he set off running at full