It was a large booth, somewhat over-full; and the company consisted mainly of Parisian blue blouses, little foot-soldiers, grisettes (for there were grisettes in those days, and plenty of them), with a sprinkling of farm-boys and dairy-maids from the villages round about. We found this select society caracoling round the booth in a thundering galop, on first going in. After the galop, the conductor announced a _valse à deux temps_. The band struck up--one--two--three. Away went some thirty couples--away went Müller and the fair Marie--and away went the chronicler of this modest biography with a pretty little girl in green boots who waltzed remarkably well, and who deserted him in the middle of the dance for a hideous little French soldier about four feet and a half high.
After this rebuff (having learned, notwithstanding my friend's representations to the contrary, that a train ran from Courbevoie to Paris every half-hour up till midnight) I slipped away, leaving Müller and _ma cousine_ in the midst of a furious flirtation, and Madame Marotte fast asleep in her corner.
The clocks were just striking twelve as I passed under the archway leading to the Cité Bergère.
"_Tiens_!" said the fat concierge, as she gave me my key and my candle. "Monsieur has perhaps been to the theatre this evening? No!--to the country--to the fête at Courbevoie! Ah, then, I'll be sworn that M'sieur has had plenty of fun!"
But had I had plenty of fun? That was the question. That Müller had had plenty of flirting and plenty of fun was a fact beyond the reach of doubt. But a flirtation, after all, unless in a one-act comedy, is not entertaining to the mere looker-on; and oh! must not those bridesmaids who sometimes accompany a happy couple in their wedding-tour, have a dreary time of it?
It seemed to me that I had but just closed my eyes, when I was waked by a hand upon my shoulder, and a voice calling me by my name. I started up to find the early sunshine pouring in at the window, and Franz Müller standing by my bedside.
"_Tiens_!" said he. "How lovely are the slumbers of innocence! I was hesitating, _mon cher_, whether to wake or sketch you."
I muttered something between a growl and a yawn, to the effect that I should have been better satisfied if he had left me alone.