The story deals with life int eh Quartier Latin, in Paris, where the merry art students live and move and have their being, and over which the halo of romance ever hangs; a peculiar people with whom we have spent many an entrancing hour in company with such volumes as "Trilby" and "A King in Yellow."
sleepy. All at once from below came a faint laugh, and as he leaned out he caught the words:
"Paris, Hélène bids you good night!"
"Ah, Belle Hélène!" -- he began, but was cut short by the violent opening of a window opposite.
"Bon dieu de bon dieu!" howled an injured gentleman. "To sleep is impossible, tas d'imbeciles! -- "
And Hélène's window closed with a snap.
The day broke hot and stifling. The first sunbeams which chased the fog from bridge and street also drove the mists from the cool thickets of the Luxembourg Garden, and revealed groups of dragoons picketed in the shrubbery.
"Dragoons in the Luxembourg!" cried the gamins to each other. "What for?"
But even the gamins did not know -- yet.
At the great Ateliers of Messieurs Bouguereau and Lefebvre the first day of the week is the busiest -- and so, this being Monday, the studios were crowded.
The heat was suffocating. The walls, smeared with the refuse of a hundred palettes, fairly sizzled as they gave off a sickly odo