. The real Latin quarter . s little tables, he over anabsinthe and I over a coffee and cognac. Ihad dined early this fresh October evening,enjoying to the full the bracing coolness ofthe air, pungent with the odor of dry leaves132 and the faint smell of burning brush. Theworld was hurrying by—in twos and threes—hurrying to warm cafes, to friends, tolovers. The breeze at twilight set the dryleaves shivering. The sky was yellow glow from the shop windows—the Lblue-white sparkle of electricity likependant diamonds—made the Quarter seemfuller of life than ever. These fall daysmake th
. The real Latin quarter . s little tables, he over anabsinthe and I over a coffee and cognac. Ihad dined early this fresh October evening,enjoying to the full the bracing coolness ofthe air, pungent with the odor of dry leaves132 and the faint smell of burning brush. Theworld was hurrying by—in twos and threes—hurrying to warm cafes, to friends, tolovers. The breeze at twilight set the dryleaves shivering. The sky was yellow glow from the shop windows—the Lblue-white sparkle of electricity likependant diamonds—made the Quarter seemfuller of life than ever. These fall daysmake the little ouvrieres trip along fromtheir work with rosy cheeks, and put hap-piness and ambition into ones very soul. Soon the winter will come, with all theboys back from their country haunts, andCeleste and Mimi from Ostende. How gayit will be — thisQuartier Latinthen! How gayit always is inwinter—and thenthe rainy ! but one cannot have every-thing. Thus itwas that La-chaume and I A GROUP OFNEW STUDIOS. - • ? ?-?? -•?? - v i V e5I v P^w^^ mF JfiHi mm* il ;.. ...... ... A SCULPTORS MODEL sat talking, when suddenly a spectre passed—a spectre of a man, his face silent, white,and pinched—drawn like a mummys. He stopped and supported his shrunkenframe wearily on his crutches, and leanedagainst a neighboring wall. He made nosound — simply gazed vacantly, with thetimidity of some animal, at the door of thesmall kitchen aglow with the light fromthe grill. He made no effort to approachthe door; only leaned against the graywall and peered at it patiently. A beggar, I said to Lachaume ; poordevil! Ah! old Pochard—yes, poor devil, andonce one of the handsomest men in Paris. What wrecked him ? I asked. What Im drinking now, mon ami. Absinthe? Yes—absinthe! He looks older than Ido, does he not? continued Lachaume,lighting a fresh cigarette, and yet Imtwenty years his senior. You see, I sipmine—he drank his by the goblet,and my friend leaned forward a
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectartists, bookyear1901
