man may pay the bill, the woman is the one to please. Artists from
Chelsea would come as well to the Café Rouge, celebrating the sale of a
picture, and drinking plentifully to the confounding of all art
critics. Also, the _cabinets particuliers_ were the scene of some
exceedingly expensive and recherché dinners--and almost no one added
the bill. When any one did, Monsieur Beauchamp was mortified, and
invariably dismissed the same waiter on the spot--thereby gaining for
himself and France a reputation for sterling integrity.

'_Ma foi_! London may be gray,' thought Monsieur Beauchamp, 'but she
pays well.'


II.

One November evening Monsieur Anton Beauchamp's critical eye noted the
entrance of a dark-haired young man in well-fitting evening clothes,
and with him a young lady whose deep-green cloak and white fur round
the shoulders set off to perfection her radiant colouring and
well-poised figure. Monsieur Beauchamp did not hesitate. After all,
he was an artist, and subject to inspiration like other men of genius;
so, hurrying downstairs, he waved the waiter aside, and greeted them
with a bow which almost amounted to virtuosity.

'_Bon soir, monsieur et madame_.' He cast an anxious glance about the
café, which was two-thirds filled. 'This tabil will do?--_Ah, mais
non_! He grew indignant at the very thought. '_Pardon, monsieur_,
that one is very nice--_par ici_--_Non, non_! Ah--perhaps you would
like a _cabinet particulier_?'