CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PETIT COURIER ILLUSTRÉ.

THE _Toison d' Or_ was but a modest little establishment as regarded the
house, but it was surrounded on three sides by a good-sized garden
overlooking the river. Here, in the trellised arbors which lined the
lawn on either side, those customers who preferred the open air could
take their dinners, coffees, and absinthes _al fresco_.

The scene when we arrived was at its gayest. There were dinners going on
in every arbor; waiters running distractedly to and fro with trays and
bottles; two women, one with a guitar, the other with a tamborine,
singing under a tree in the middle of the garden; while in the air there
reigned an exhilarating confusion of sounds and smells impossible
to describe.

We went in. Müller paused, looked round, captured a passing waiter, and
asked for Monsieur le propriétaire. The waiter pointed over his shoulder
towards the house, and breathlessly rushed on his way.

Müller at once led the way into a salon on the ground-floor looking over
the garden.

Here we found ourselves in a large low room containing some thirty or
forty tables, and fitted up after the universal restaurant pattern, with
cheap-looking glasses, rows of hooks, and spittoons in due number. The