. The real Latin quarter . sses in unison on the heavy table. Oh, que cest beau! cries Mimi, lead-ing the successful chorus in a new vocalnumber with Edmonds walking-stick; butthis time it is a French song and the whole50 room is singing it, including our old friend,Monsieur Frank, the barkeeper, who ismixing one of his famous concoctions whichare never twice quite alike, but are betterthan if they were. The harmonic beauties of Twas Sum-mer and the Little Birds were Singing inthe Trees are still inexhausted, but itsadly needs a piano accompaniment—withthis it would be perfect; and so the whol
. The real Latin quarter . sses in unison on the heavy table. Oh, que cest beau! cries Mimi, lead-ing the successful chorus in a new vocalnumber with Edmonds walking-stick; butthis time it is a French song and the whole50 room is singing it, including our old friend,Monsieur Frank, the barkeeper, who ismixing one of his famous concoctions whichare never twice quite alike, but are betterthan if they were. The harmonic beauties of Twas Sum-mer and the Little Birds were Singing inthe Trees are still inexhausted, but itsadly needs a piano accompaniment—withthis it would be perfect; and so the wholecrowd, including Yvonne, and Celeste, andMarcelle, and the two Frenchmen, and thegirl in the bicycle clothes, start for JackThompsons studio in the rue des Four-neaux, where there is a piano that, even ifthe candles in the little Louis XVI bracketsdo burn low and spill down the keys, andthe punch rusts the strings, it will stillretain that beautiful, rich tone that everyFrench upright, at seven francs a month, CHAPTER III THE BAL BULLIER?*• There are all types of bals in in Montmartre, on the Place Blanche,is the well-known Moulin Rouge, a placesuggestive, to those who have never seen it,of the quintessence of Parisian devil-me-care gayety. You expect it to be like thoseclever pen-and-ink drawings of Grevins, ofthe old Jardin Mabille in its palmiest days,brilliant with lights and beautiful womenextravagantly gowned and bejeweled. You52 expect to see Frenchmen, too, in pot-hats,crowding in a circle about Fifine, who isdancing some mad can-can, half hidden ina swirl of point lace, her small, polishedboots alternately poised above her daintyhead. And when she has finished, youexpect her to be carried off to supper atthe Maison Doree by the big, fierce-look-ing Russian who has been watching her,and whose victoria, with its spanking team—black and glossy as satin—champingtheir silver bits outside, awaiting herpleasure. But in all these anticipations yo
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