the overwhelming smell of lamp-oil, and the clatter, not only of heavy
walking-boots, but even of several pairs of sabots upon an uneven floor
of loosely-joined planks--_ma tante_, being disposed of in a safe
corner, went soundly to sleep.

It was a large booth, somewhat over-full; and the company consisted
mainly of Parisian blue blouses, little foot-soldiers, grisettes (for
there were grisettes in those days, and plenty of them), with a
sprinkling of farm-boys and dairy-maids from the villages round about.
We found this select society caracoling round the booth in a thundering
galop, on first going in. After the galop, the conductor announced a
_valse à deux temps_. The band struck up--one--two--three. Away went
some thirty couples--away went Müller and the fair Marie--and away went
the chronicler of this modest biography with a pretty little girl in
green boots who waltzed remarkably well, and who deserted him in the
middle of the dance for a hideous little French soldier about four feet
and a half high.

After this rebuff (having learned, notwithstanding my friend's
representations to the contrary, that a train ran from Courbevoie to
Paris every half-hour up till midnight) I slipped away, leaving Müller
and _ma cousine_ in the midst of a furious flirtation, and Madame
Marotte fast asleep in her corner.

The clocks were just striking twelve as I passed under the archway
leading to the Cité Bergère.

"_Tiens_!" said the fat concierge, as she gave me my key and my candle.
"Monsieur has perhaps been to the theatre this evening? No!--to the
country--to the fête at Courbevoie! Ah, then, I'll be sworn that M'sieur