. The real Latin quarter . , wehave gone a great distance; to-morrowbefore sundown we shall descend in Bel-gium. Horrible ! cries the Countess ; I donot like those Belgians. Ah ! but you shall see, Therese, oneshall go where one pleases soon; we arepatient, we aeronauts; we shall bringcredit to La Belle France; we have cour-age and perseverance; we shall give manydinners and weep over the failures ofour brave comrades, to make the dirigi-ble balloon pratique. We shall succeed!Then Voila ! our dejeuner in Paris and ourdinner where we Th€rese taps her polished nails againstthe edge of t
. The real Latin quarter . , wehave gone a great distance; to-morrowbefore sundown we shall descend in Bel-gium. Horrible ! cries the Countess ; I donot like those Belgians. Ah ! but you shall see, Therese, oneshall go where one pleases soon; we arepatient, we aeronauts; we shall bringcredit to La Belle France; we have cour-age and perseverance; we shall give manydinners and weep over the failures ofour brave comrades, to make the dirigi-ble balloon pratique. We shall succeed!Then Voila ! our dejeuner in Paris and ourdinner where we Th€rese taps her polished nails againstthe edge of the wicker cage and hums alittle chansonette. Je taime —she murmurs. I did not see this myself, and I do notknow the fair Therese or the gentlemanwho buttons his coat under his whiskers;but you should have heard one of theseballooning enthusiasts tell it to me in theTaverne du Pantheon the other night. Hisonly regret seemed to be that he, too, couldnot have a dirigible balloon and a countess—on ten francs a week ! 128. CHAPTER VII ^*POCHARD Drunkards are not frequent sights in theQuarter; and yet when these people doget drunk, they become as irresponsible asmaniacs. Excitable to a degree even whensober, these most wretched among the poorwhen drunk often appear in front of a cafe—gaunt, wild-eyed, haggard, and filthy—singing in boisterous tones or reciting toyou with tense voices a jumble of meaning-less thoughts. The man with the matted hair, and toesout of his boots, will fold his arms melo-dramatically, and regard you for some mo-ments as you sit in front of him on theterrace. Then he will vent upon you atorrent of abuse, ending in some jumble ofsocialistic ideas of his own When he has finished, he will fold hisarms again and move on to the next is crazy with absinthe, and no one paysany attention to him. On he strides up theBoul Miche, past the cafes, continuinghis ravings. As long as he is moderatelypeaceful and confines his wandering braint
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