"He is evidently a great painter, _not' jeune homme_!" said Madame in
one of her large whispers.

To which Monsieur replied as audibly:--"_Ça se voit, ma femme--sacre nom
d'une pipe_!"

"Milford will do me the favor to sit again on Friday?" said Müller, as I
took up my hat and gloves.

I replied with infinite condescension that I would endeavor to do so. I
then made the stiffest of stiff bows to the excellent Tapottes, and,
ushered to the door by Müller, took my departure majestically in the
character of Lord Smithfield.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE QUARTIER LATIN.

The dear old Quartier Latin of my time--the Quartier Latin of Balzac, of
Béranger, of Henry Murger---the Quartier Latin where Franz Müller had
his studio; where Messieurs Gustave; Jules, and Adrien gave their
unparalleled _soirées dansantes_; where I first met my ex-flame
Josephine--exists no longer. It has been improved off the face of the
earth, and with it such a gay bizarre, improvident world of youth and
folly as shall never again be met together on the banks of the Seine.

Ah me! how well I remember that dingy, delightful Arcadia--the Rue de la
Vieille Boucherie, narrow, noisy, crowded, with projecting upper stories