union with them for the rest of the day. _Ma tante's_ deafness is not
entertaining, and _la petite_ Marie has nothing to say."

"_La petite_ Marie is uncommonly pretty, though," said Müller. "I mean
to dance a quadrille with her by-and-by, I promise you."

"_A la bonne heure_! We shall be sure to chance upon them again before
long."

We had come by this time to a group of pretty villa-residences with high
garden walls and little shady side-lanes leading down to the river. Then
came a church and more houses; then an open Place; and suddenly we found
ourselves in the midst of the fair.

It was just like any other of the hundred and one fêtes that take place
every summer in the environs of Paris. There was a merry-go-round and a
greasy pole; there was a juggler who swallowed knives and ribbons; there
were fortune-tellers without number; there were dining-booths, and
drinking-booths, and dancing-booths; there were acrobats, organ-boys
with monkeys, and Savoyards with white mice; there were stalls for the
sale of cakes, fruit, sweetmeats, toys, combs, cheap jewelry, glass,
crockery, boots and shoes, holy-water vessels, rosaries, medals, and
little colored prints of saints and martyrs; there were brass bands, and
string bands, and ballad-singers everywhere; and there was an atmosphere
compounded of dust, tobacco-smoke, onions, musk, and every objectionable
perfume under heaven.

"Dine at the Restaurant de l'Empire, Messieurs," shouted a shabby
touter in a blouse, thrusting a greasy card into our faces. "Three
dishes, a dessert, a half-bottle, and a band of music, for one