Together they stepped into the roadway, where the frosty surface was
scarred by the soldiers' feet, and together they reached the doorway of
the large building and read the legend, "_Soctiété Peintres et
Sculpteurs Français_."

The Irishman read the words with the faintly humorous, faintly sceptical
glance that he seemed to bestow upon the world at large.

"Remember I'm throwing out no bait, but I expect 'twill be value for a
couple of francs."

They entered the bare hall and, mounting a cold and rigid staircase,
found themselves confronted by a turnstile.

The Irishman was in the act of laying a two-franc piece in the hand of
the custodian when the boy plucked him by the sleeve and, turning, he
saw the curious eyes full of a sudden anxiety.

"Monsieur, pardon me! You know Paris well?"

"I live here for five months out of the twelve."

"Then you can tell me if--if this exhibition will be well attended. I
want with all my heart to see the pictures, but I--I dislike
crowds--fashionable crowds." His voice was agitated; it was as if he had
suddenly awakened from his pleasant dream of Bohemian comradeship to a
remembrance of the Paris that lay about him.

The Irishman expressed no surprise: his only reply was to move nearer to
the guardian of the turnstile.