on
jacket, with the wide shirt collar. Berquin, in a tightly fitting
double-breasted brown cloth swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons,
yellow nankin bell-mouthed trousers strapped over varnished boots,
butter-colored gloves, a blue satin stock, and a very tall hairy hat
with a wide curly brim, looked such an out-and-out young gentleman of
France that we were all proud of being seen in his company--especially
young de Bonneville, who was still in mourning for his father and wore a
crape band round his arm, and a common cloth cap with a leather peak,
and thick blucher boots; though he was quite sixteen, and already had a
little black mustache like an eyebrow, and inhaled the smoke of his
cigarette without coughing and quite naturally, and ordered the waiters
about just as if he already wore the uniform of the Ecole St.-Cyr, for
which he destined himself (and was not disappointed. He should be a
marshal of France by now--perhaps he is).

Then we went to the Cafe Mulhouse on the Boulevard des Italiens (on
the "_Boul. des It._," as we called it, to be in the fashion)--that
we might gaze at Senor Joaquin Eliezegui, the Spanish giant, who was
eight feet high and a trifle over (or under--I forget which): he
told us himself. Barty had a passion for gazing at very tall men;
like Frederic the Great (or was it his Majesty's royal father?).

Then we went to the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, where, in a painted wooden
shed, a most beautiful Circassian slave, miraculously rescued from some
abominable seraglio in Constantinople, sold pen'orths of "galette du
gymnase." On her raven hair she wore a silk turban all over sequins,
silver and gold, with a yashmak that fell down behind, leaving her
adorable face exposed: she had an amber vest of silk, embroidered with
pearls as big as walnuts, and Turkish pantalettes--what her slippers
were we couldn't see, but they must have been lovely, like all the rest
of her. Barty had a passion for gazing at very beautiful female
faces--like his father before him.

There was a regular queue of postulants to see this heavenly Eastern
houri and buy her confection, which is very like Scotch butter-cake,
but not so digestible; and even more filling at the price. And three
of us sat on a bench, while three times running Barty took his place
in that procession--soldiers, sailors, workmen, chiffonniers, people
of all sorts, women as many as men--all of them hungry for galette,
but hungrier still for a good hu