. The real Latin quarter . all filthily dirty;swarthy, black-eyed, gypsy-looking girlsand boys of from twelve to fifteen years ofage, and Italian mothers holding smallchildren—itinerant madonnas. These arethe poorer class of models—the riff-raff ofthe Quarter—who get anywhere from a fewsous to a few francs for a seance. And there are four-footed models, too,for I know a kindly old horse who hasserved in many a studio and who has car-ried a score of the famous generals of theworld and Jeanne dArcs to battle—in manya modern public square. Chacun son metier! 5° CHAPTER VIII THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS
. The real Latin quarter . all filthily dirty;swarthy, black-eyed, gypsy-looking girlsand boys of from twelve to fifteen years ofage, and Italian mothers holding smallchildren—itinerant madonnas. These arethe poorer class of models—the riff-raff ofthe Quarter—who get anywhere from a fewsous to a few francs for a seance. And there are four-footed models, too,for I know a kindly old horse who hasserved in many a studio and who has car-ried a score of the famous generals of theworld and Jeanne dArcs to battle—in manya modern public square. Chacun son metier! 5° CHAPTER VIII THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS N this busy Quarter,where so manypeople are con-fined throughoutthe day in work-shops and studios,a breathing-spacebecomes a neces-sity. The gardensof the Luxem-bourg, brilliant inflowers and laidout in the. Renais-sance, with shadygroves and longavenues of chest-nut-trees stretching up to the Place deTObservatoire, afford the great breathing-ground for the Latin one had but an hour to spend in the151. Quartier Latin, one could not find a moreinteresting and representative sight of stu-dent life than between the hours of four andfive on Friday afternoon, when the military-band plays in the Luxembourg is the afternoon when Bohemia is onparade. Then every one flocks here to seeones friends—and a sort of weekly receptionfor the Quarter is held. The walks aboutthe band-stand are thronged with studentsand girls, and hundreds of chairs are filledwith an audience of the older people—shop-keepers and their families, old women inwhite lace caps, and gray-haired old men,many in straight-brimmed high hats of amode of twenty years past. Here they sitand listen to the music under the coolshadow of the trees, whose rich foliageforms an arbor overhead—a roof of greenleaves, through which the sunbeams streamand in which the fat, gray pigeons find aparadise. There is a booth near-by where waffles, cooked on a small oven in the rear, are sold. In front are
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