. Bohemian Paris of to-day . s though I had been breathing fog was thicker than ever, and the night wascolder. The two twisted gas-lamps were no longerburning as we crossed the slippery stone-paved courtand ascended to the narrow street. The musicianwrapped a gray muffler about his throat and thrusthis hands deep into his pockets. The poet had notop-coat, but he buttoned his thin jacket tightly abouthim, and shivered. Shall we have some lait chaud and a croissant?inquired the musician. Yes, anything hot would be good, even milk ; butwhere could we get it ? Ah, you shall see ! We h
. Bohemian Paris of to-day . s though I had been breathing fog was thicker than ever, and the night wascolder. The two twisted gas-lamps were no longerburning as we crossed the slippery stone-paved courtand ascended to the narrow street. The musicianwrapped a gray muffler about his throat and thrusthis hands deep into his pockets. The poet had notop-coat, but he buttoned his thin jacket tightly abouthim, and shivered. Shall we have some lait chaud and a croissant?inquired the musician. Yes, anything hot would be good, even milk ; butwhere could we get it ? Ah, you shall see ! We had not gone far when it gave me a start to recognize a figure that we had seen in the Boul Mich on our way to the Solell dOr. It was that of an outcast of the boulevards, now slinking through the shadows toward the river. We had been ac- 203 BOHEMIAN PARIS costed by him in front of one of the brilliant cafes,as, trembling and rubbing his hands, a picture of hopeless dejection andmisery, and in a quaver-ing voice he begged us. AN OUTCAST OF THE BOULEVARDS to buy him a drink of brandy. It probably saved him from an attack of delirium tremens that night, 204 LE CABARET DU SOLEIL DOR but here he was drifting, with a singular fatality,toward the river and the Morgue. Now, that hisdays work of begging was done, all his jackalwatchfulness had disappeared, and an inner visionseemed to look forth from his bleared eyes as theirgaze strained straight and dull toward the blackriver. It may have been a mere fancy, but the ex-pression in his eyes reminded me strongly of similarthings that I had seen on the slabs in the Morgue. We crossed the Rue du Haut-Pave again to theriver wall, and arrived at the bridge leading back ofNotre-Dame and past the Morgue. On the fartherend of the bridge, propped against the parapet, wasa small stand, upon a corner of which a dim lampwas burnine. In front were a number of milk-cans,and on a small counter were a row of thick whitebowls and a basket of croissants
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