Accommodation was cheap, manners
were easy, and knowledge of the gay city less than rudimentary.

To M. Bocardon of Paris Aristide, one August morning, brought glowing
letters of introduction from M. and Mme. Bocardon of Nimes. M. Bocardon
of Paris welcomed Aristide as a Provencal and a brother. He brought out
from a cupboard in his private bureau an hospitable bottle of old
Armagnac, and discoursed with Aristide on the seductions of the South.
It was there that he longed to retire--to a dainty little hotel of his
own with a smart clientele. The clientele of the Hotel du Soleil et de
l'Ecosse was not to his taste. He spoke slightingly of his guests.

"There are people who know how to travel," said he, "and people who
don't. These lost muttons here don't, and they make hotel-keeping a
nightmare instead of a joy. A hundred times a day have I to tell them
the way to Notre Dame. _Pouah!_" said he, gulping down his disgust and
the rest of his Armagnac, "it is back-breaking."

"_Tu sais, mon vieux_," cried Aristide--he had the most lightning way of
establishing an intimacy--"I have an idea. These lost sheep need a
shepherd."

"_Eh bien?_" said M. Bocardon.

"_Eh bien_," said Aristide. "Why should not I be the shepherd, the
official shepherd attached to the Hotel du Soleil et de l'Ecosse?"

"Explain yourself," said M. Bocardon.

Aristide, letting loose his swift imagination, explained copiously, and
hypnotized M. Bocardon with his glittering eye, until he had assured to
himself a means of livelihood. From that moment he became the familiar
genius of the hotel. Scorning the title of "guide," lest he should be
associated in the minds of the guests with the squalid scoundrels who
infest the Boulevard, he constituted himself "Directeur de l'Agence
Pujol." An obfuscated Bocardon formed the rest of the agency and
pocketed a percentage of Aristide's earnings, and Aristide, addressed as
"Director" by the Anglo-Saxons, "M. le Directeur" by the Latins, and
"Herr Direktor" by the Teutons, walked about like a peacock in a
barn-yard.

[Illustration: HE MUST HAVE DEALT OUT PARALYZING INFORMATION]

At that period, and until he had learned up Baedeker by heart, a process
which nearly gave him brain-fever, and still, he declares, brings terror
into his slumbers, he knew little more of the history, topography, and
art-treasures of Paris than the flock he shepherded. He must have
dealt out paralyzing information. The Britons and the