"That fair girl, for example, sitting at the table with the hideous, untidy little man in the brown suit ?" Blake's eyes sought out the couple.

"What! The two smiling into each other's eyes?
Those, my boy, are true citizens of the true Bohemia.

She is probably a little dressmaker's assistant, whose whole available capital is sunk in that Pierrot hat and those pretty shoes; and he--well, he might be anything with that queer, clever head! But he's probably a poet, in the guise of a journalist, picking up a few francs when he can and where he can.

A precarious existence, but lived in Elysium! Wish I were twenty--and unanalytical! Come along! It's to be a Spanish dance.

You mustn't miss it!" They made their way forward, pushing toward the open space, upon which a shaft of limelight had been thrown, the better to display the faces and figures of eight Spanish women who, dressed in their national costume, stood preening themselves like vain birds, tossing their heads and showing their white teeth in sudden smiles of recognition to their friends among the audience.