boulevards at night, in the highly powerful car he had hired,
large parties of strange people, who would loudly sing airs from
the Folie-Rouge (to my unhappy shudderings) all the way from the
fatiguing Bal Bullier to the Cafe' de Paris, where the waiters
soon became affluent.

And how many of those gaily dressed and smiling ladies whose
bright eyes meet yours on the veranda of the Theatre Marigny
were provided with excessive suppers and souvenir fans by the
inexhaustible Poor Jr.! He left a trail of pink hundred-franc
notes behind him, like a running boy dropping paper in the
English game; and he kept showers of gold louis dancing in the
air about him, so that when we entered the various cafes or
"American bars" a cheer (not vocal but to me of perfect
audibility) went up from the hungry and thirsty and borrowing,
and from the attendants. Ah, how tired I was of it, and how I
endeavoured to discover a means to draw him to the museums, and
to Notre Dame and the Pantheon!

And how many times did I unwillingly find myself in the too
enlivening company of those pretty supper-girls, and what
jokings upon his head-top did the poor bald gentleman not
undergo from those same demoiselles with the bright eyes, the
wonderful hats, and the fluffy dresses!

How often among those gay people did I find myself sadly
dreaming of that grey pongee skirt and the beautiful heart that
had understood! Should I ever see that lady? Not, I knew, alas!
in the whirl about Poor Jr.! As soon look for a nun at the Cafe'
Blanche!