e Hotel Cluny and the Baths of Julian the
Apostate--or the Jardin des Plantes, or the Morgue, or the knackers'
yards at Montfaucon--or lovely slums. Then a swim at the Bains
Deligny. Then lunch at some restaurant on the Quai Voltaire, or in
the Quartier Latin. Then to some cafe on the Boulevards, drinking
our demi-tasse and our chasse-cafe, and smoking our cigarettes like
men, and picking our teeth like gentlemen of France.

Once after lunch at Vachette's with Berquin (who was seventeen) and
Bonneville (the marquis who had got an English mother), we were
sitting outside the Cafe des Varietes, in the midst of a crowd of
consommateurs, and tasting to the full the joy of being alive, when
a poor woman came up with a guitar, and tried to sing "Le petit
mousse noir," a song Barty knew quite well--but she couldn't sing a
bit, and nobody listened.

"Allons, Josselin, chante-nous ca!" said Berquin.

And Bonneville jumped up, and took the woman's guitar from her, and
forced it into Josselin's hands, while the crowd became much
interested and began to applaud.

Thus encouraged, Barty, who never in all his life knew what it is to
be shy, stood up and piped away like a bird; and when he had
finished the story of the little black cabin-boy who sings in the
maintop halliards, the applause was so tremendous that he had to
stand up on a chair and sing another, and yet another.

"Ecoute-moi bien, ma Fleurette!" and "Amis, la matinee est belle!"
(from _La Muette de Portici_), while the pavement outside the
Varietes was rendered quite impassable by the crowd that had
gathered round to look and listen--and who all joined in the chorus:

"Conduis ta barque avec prudence,
Pecheur! parle bas!
Jette tes filets en silence
Pecheur! parle bas!
Et le roi des mers ne nous echappera pas!" (_bis_).

and the applause was deafening.

Meanwhile Bonneville and Berquin went round with the hat and
gathered quite a considerable sum, in which there seemed to be
almost as much silver as copper--and actually _two five-franc pieces
and an English half-sovereign_! The poor woman wept with gratitude
at coming into such a fortune, and insisted on kissing Barty's hand.
Indeed it was a quite wonderful ovation, considering how
unmistakably British was Barty's appearance, and how unpopular we
were in France just then!

[Illustration: "AMIS, LA MATINEE EST BELLE"]

He had his new shiny black silk chimney-pot hat on, and his Et