far as possible the English habitues of the place had anglicized its
food. Milly found few congenial spirits there. She rather liked two
invalidish maiden ladies from Boston and went shopping with them
sometimes and to see the pictures in the Louvre. But the Misses Byron
were quite delicate and took their Paris in dainty sips.

Milly was far from sharing her husband's distrust of all things French,
but she supposed being a man and having been there before he must know
Paris. She would have liked to spend the lovely late autumn days on the
streets, drinking in the sights and sounds. Instead she went with Jack
to the picture galleries and did the other "monuments" starred in
Baedeker, conscientiously. But these did not stir her soul. The Louvre
was like some thronged wilderness and she had no clews. Life spoke to
her almost exclusively through her senses, not through her mind, which
was totally untrained. She was profoundly ignorant of all history, art,
and politics; so the "monuments" meant nothing but their
picturesqueness. She picked up the language with extraordinary avidity,
and soon became her husband's interpreter, when the necessity reached
beyond a commonplace phrase.

Occasionally as a spree they dined in the city at some recommended
restaurant and went to the theatre. But these were expensive
pleasures--indeed the scale of living was more costly than in Chicago,
if one wanted the same comforts; and by the end of the first winter
Bragdon became worried over the rapid inroads they were making on their
letter of credit. Every time he had to journey to the Rue Scribe he
shook his head and warned Milly they must be more careful if their funds
were to last them even two years. And he knew now that he needed every
day of training he could possibly get. He was behind many of these other
three thousand young Americans engaged in becoming great artists. Milly
thought their sprees were modest and far between, but as the dark,
chilly Paris winter drew on she was more and more confined to the stuffy
salon or their one cheerless room. She became depressed and bored. This
was not at all what she had expected of Europe. It seemed that Paris
could be as small a place as Chicago, or even less!

Sometimes, like a naughty child, Milly broke rules and sallied forth by
herself on bright days, wandering down the Champs Elysees, gazing at the
people, speculating upon the very pronounced ladies in the smart
victorias, even getting as