It is generally understood to lie
outside the pale of the aristocratic Avenue de l'Observatoire. The
students of the Montparnasse Quarter consider it swell and will have none
of it. The Latin Quarter, from the Luxembourg, its northern frontier,
sneers at its respectability and regards with disfavour the correctly
costumed students who haunt it. Few strangers go into it. At times,
however, the Latin Quarter students use it as a thoroughfare between the
rue de Rennes and the Bullier, but except for that and the weekly
afternoon visits of parents and guardians to the Convent near the rue
Vavin, the street of Our Lady of the Fields is as quiet as a Passy
boulevard. Perhaps the most respectable portion lies between the rue de la
Grande Chaumière and the rue Vavin, at least this was the conclusion
arrived at by the Reverend Joel Byram, as he rambled through it with
Hastings in charge. To Hastings the street looked pleasant in the bright
June weather, and he had begun to hope for its selection when the Reverend
Byram shied violently at the cross on the Convent opposite. "Jesuits," he muttered. "Well," said Hastings wearily, "I imagine we won't find anything better. You say yourself that vice is triumphant in Paris, and it seems to me that
in every street we find Jesuits or something worse." After a moment he repeated, "Or something worse, which of course I would
not notice except for your kindness in warning me." Dr. Byram sucked in his lips and looked about him. He was impressed by the
evident respectability of the surroundings. Then frowning at the Convent
he took Hastings' arm and shuffled across the street to an iron gateway
which bore the number 201 _bis_ painted in white on a blue ground. Below
this was a notice printed in English:

  1. For Porter please oppress once. 2. For Servant please oppress twice. 3. For Parlour please oppress thrice. Hastings touched the electric button three times, and they were ushered
through the garden and into the parlour by a trim maid. The dining-room
door, just beyond, was open, and from the table in plain view a stout
woman hastily arose and came toward them. Hastings caught a glimpse of a
young man with a big head and several snuffy old gentlemen at breakfast,
before the door closed and the stout woman waddled into the room, bringing
with her an aroma of coffee and a black poodle." "It ees a plaisir to you receive!" she cried. "Monsieur is Anglish? No? Americain? Off course. My pension it ees for Americains surtout. Here all
spik Angleesh, c'est à dire, ze personnel; ze sairvants do spik, plus ou
moins, a little. I am happy to have you comme pensionnaires--"

"Madame," began Dr. Byram, but was cut short again. "Ah, yess, I know, ah! mon Dieu! you do not spik Frainch but you have come
to lairne! My husband does spik Frainch wiss ze pensionnaires. We have at
ze moment a family Americaine who learn of my husband Frainch--"

Here the poodle growled at Dr. Byram and was promptly cuffed by his
mistress. "Veux tu!" she cried, with a slap, "veux tu! Oh! le vilain, oh! le
vilain!" "Mais, madame," said Hastings, smiling, "il n'a pas l'air très féroce." The poodle fled, and his mistress cried, "Ah, ze accent charming! He does
spik already Frainch like a Parisien young gentleman!" Then Dr. Byram managed to get in a word or two and gathered more or less
information with regard to prices. "It ees a pension serieux; my clientèle ees of ze best, indeed a pension
de famille where one ees at 'ome." Then they went upstairs to examine Hastings' future quarters, test the
bed-springs and arrange for the weekly towel allowance. Dr. Byram appeared
satisfied. Madame Marotte accompanied them to the door and rang for the maid, but as
Hastings stepped out into the gravel walk, his guide and mentor paused a
moment and fixed Madame with his watery eyes. "You understand," he said, "that he is a youth of most careful bringing
up, and his character and morals are without a stain. He is young and has
never been abroad, never even seen a large city, and his parents have
requested me, as an old family friend living in Paris, to see that he is
placed under good influences. He is to study art, but on no account would
his parents wish him to live in the Latin Quarter if they knew of the
immorality which is rife there." A sound like the click of a latch interrupted him and he raised his eyes,
but not in time to see the maid slap the big-headed young man behind the
parlour-door. Madame coughed, cast a deadly glance behind her and then beamed on Dr.
Byram. "It ees well zat he come here. The pension more serious, il n'en existe
pas, eet ees not any!" she announced with conviction. So, as there was nothing more to add, Dr. Byram joined Hastings at the
gate. "I trust," he said, eyeing the Convent, "that you will make no
acquaintances among Jesuits!" Hastings looked at the Convent until a pretty girl passed before the gray
façade, and then he looked at her. A young fellow with a paint-box and
canvas came swinging along, stopped before the pretty girl, said something
during a brief but vigorous handshake at which they both laughed, and he
went his way, calling back, "À demain Valentine!" as in the same breath
she cried, "À demain!" "Valentine," thought Hastings, "what a quaint name;" and he started to
follow the Reverend Joel Byram, who was shuffling towards the nearest
tramway station. II

"An' you are pleas wiz Paris, Monsieur' Astang?" demanded Madame Marotte
the next morning as Hastings came into the breakfast-room of the pension,
rosy from his plunge in the limited bath above. "I am sure I shall like it," he replied, wondering at his own depression
of spirits. The maid brought him coffee and rolls. He returned the vacant glance of
the big-headed young man and acknowledged diffidently the salutes of the
snuffy old gentlemen. He did not try to finish his coffee, and sat
crumbling a roll, unconscious of the sympathetic glances of Madame
Marotte, who had tact enough not to bother him. Presently a maid entered with a tray on which were balanced two bowls of
chocolate, and the snuffy old gentlemen leered at her ankles. The maid
deposited the chocolate at a table near the window and smiled at Hastings. Then a thin young lady, followed by her counterpart in all except years,
marched into the room and took the table near the window. They were
evidently American, but Hastings, if he expected any sign of recognition,
was disappointed. To be ignored by compatriots intensified his depression. He fumbled with his knife and looked at his plate. The thin young lady was talkative enough. She was quite aware of Hastings'
presence, ready to be flattered if he looked at her, but on the other hand
she felt her superiority, for she had been three weeks in Paris and he, it
was easy to see, had not yet unpacked his steamer-trunk. Her conversation was complacent.