I

pleasure resort, but a lounging place, with a high price for entrance in order to attract the fine ladies. One ought to be able to stroll along well-graveled walks lit up by electric light, and to sit down when one wished to hear the music near or at a distance. We had about the sort of thing formerly at Musard’s, but with a smack of the low-class dancing-room, and too much dance music, not enough space, not enough shade, not enough gloom. It would want a very fine garden and a very extensive one. It would be delightful. Where shall we go?”

Duroy, rather perplexed, did not know what to say; at length he made up his mind. “I have never been in the Folies Bergère. I should not mind taking a look round there,” he said.

“The Folies Bergère,” exclaimed his companion, “the deuce; we shall roast there as in an oven. But, very well, then, it is always funny there.”

And they turned on their heels to make their way to the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre.

The lit-up front of the establishment threw a bright light into the four streets which met in front of it. A string of cabs were waiting for the close of the performance.

Forestier was walking in when Duroy checked him.

“You are passing the pay-box,” said he.

“I never pay,” was the reply, in a tone of importance.

When he approached the check-takers they bowed, and one of them held out his hand. The journalist asked: “Have you a good box?”

“Certainly, Monsieur Forestier.”

He took the ticket held out to him, pushed the padded door with its leather borders, and they found themselves in the auditorium.