tedly. "And
see! here is a stone sink, and there's water and gas."

Water and gas are still deemed luxuries in the more ancient quarters
of Paris. As for baths, they are for the rich,--even the more modern
structures are parsimonious of baths. You realize all this when in a
close omnibus, or smell some well-dressed Parisienne ten feet away.
When one of the dwellers of Rue St. Jacques takes a bath a battered
old tub is brought around on a wagon and unloaded in the court with a
noise and ceremony that arouses the entire neighborhood, which puts
its head out of the window and wonders who is going to be married.

"And here's a private closet, too," continued Mlle.
Fouchette,--"everything! But that sweet little stove! I could cook a
course dinner on that!"

"Oh, you could, eh?" inquired Jean. "Then you shall."

"Surely!" said the girl, as if it were settled from the first.
"Besides, it is so much more economical for two than one."

"Oh, is it?" he replied, doubtfully.

"Of course, if one lives at expensive restaurants. And in bad weather
or when one feels grumpy----"

They looked at the large bedroom and small anteroom, or toilet-room
adjoining, which Mlle. Fouchette declared was good enough for a lord,
inspected the closets, commented on the excellent condition of the
polished floors and newly papered walls, and finally decided that it
really was a good deal for the money.

"It could be made a little paradise," said she, enthusiastically.

"Needing the angels," he suggested.

"Possibly; but one can get along very comfortably without them."

"But I wonder why M. de Beauchamp, installed here so comfortably day
before yesterday, should be missing to-day. There must be some
drawback here----"

"Oh, no. The truth is, M. de Beauchamp thought he saw--in fact, M. de
Beauchamp did see visions. In one of these he was foretold of a
possible difference of opinion between himself and the government;
about something that was to have happened yesterday and didn't
happen----"

"Did not happen. Go on."

"There, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "that is all. Only, you see, M.
de Beauchamp's arrangements having been made, he probably thought he
might as well disappear----"

"And his studio with him."

"Precisely. Look what a nice big closet in the wall!"

"Yes,--funny. But, I say, mon enfant, was this handsome M. de
Beauchamp really an artist?"

"Bah! how do I know? He made pictures. Certainly, he made pictures."

Jean