. The real Latin quarter . ying home—a fiacre for a short distanceis a luxury in the Quarter. Now you hearthe click-clock of an approaching cab, thecocher half asleep on his box. The hoodof the fiacre is up, sheltering the two insidefrom the rain. As the voiture rumbles bynear a street-light, you catch a glimpse ofa pink silk petticoat within and a pair ofdainty, white kid shoes—and the glint of anofficers sword. Farther on, you pass a silent gendarmemuffled in his night cloak; a few doors far-ther on in a small cafe, a bourgeois couple,who have arrived on a late train no doubtto spend a month
. The real Latin quarter . ying home—a fiacre for a short distanceis a luxury in the Quarter. Now you hearthe click-clock of an approaching cab, thecocher half asleep on his box. The hoodof the fiacre is up, sheltering the two insidefrom the rain. As the voiture rumbles bynear a street-light, you catch a glimpse ofa pink silk petticoat within and a pair ofdainty, white kid shoes—and the glint of anofficers sword. Farther on, you pass a silent gendarmemuffled in his night cloak; a few doors far-ther on in a small cafe, a bourgeois couple,who have arrived on a late train no doubtto spend a month with relatives in Paris,are having a warming tipple before pro-ceeding farther in the drizzling rain. Theyhave, of course, invited the cocher to drinkwith them. They have brought all their191 pets and nearly all their household goods—two dogs, three bird-cages, their tiny oc-cupants protected from the damp air byseveral folds of newspaper; a cat in a stoutpaper box with air holes, and two trunks,well tied with Ah, yes, it has been a long journey!sighs the wife. Her husband corroboratesher, as they explain to the patronne of thecafe and to the cocher that they left theirvillage at midday. Anything over two hourson the chemin-de-fer is considered a journeyby these good French people !192 As you continue on to your studio, youcatch a glimpse of the lights of the Boule-vard Montparnasse. Next a cab with agreen light rattles by ; then a ponderoustwo-wheeled cart lumbers along, piled highwith red carrots as neatly arranged ascigars in a box—the driver asleep on hisseat near his swinging lantern — and thebig Normandy horses taking the way. Itis late, for these carts are on their route tothe early morning market—one of the greatHalles. The tired waiters are putting upthe shutters of the smaller cafes and stack-ing up the chairs. Now a cock crows lustilyin some neighboring yard ; the majority atleast of the Latin Quarter has turned in forthe night. A moment later you
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectartists, bookyear1901
