nations borrowed something of the antique spirit of wantonness. Along
with its theft of the Attic charm and grace, it has captured, also,
something of its sublime indifference; in the very teeth of the
dull modern world, France has laughed opinion to scorn.

At noon the tents were all deserted. It was at this hour that the inn
garden was full. The gayety and laughter overflowed the walls. Everyone
talked at once; the orders were like a rattle of artillery--painting
for hours in the open air gives a fine edge to appetite, and patience
is never the true twin of hunger. Everything but the _potage_ was
certain to be on time.

Colinette, released from her Greek draperies, with her Parisian bodice
had recovered the _blague_ of the studios.

"_Sacre nom de--on reste donc claquemure ainsi toute la matinee!_ And all
for an _omelette_--a puny, good-for-nothing _omelette_. And you--you've
lost your tongue, it seems?" And a shrill voice pierced the air as
Colinette gave her painter the hint of her prodding elbow. With the
appearance of the _omelette_ the reign of good humor would return.
Everything then went as merrily as that marriage-bell which,
apparently, is the only one absent in Bohemia's gay chimes.

These arbors had obviously been built out of pure charity: they
appeared to have been constructed on the principle that since man,
painting man, is often forced to live alone, from economic necessity,
it is therefore only the commonest charity to provide him with the
proper surroundings for eating _a deux._ The little tables beneath the
kiosks were strictly _tete-a-tete_ tables; even the chairs, like the
visitors, appeared to come only in couples.