That may be a bit beyond them sometimes, but usually there is someone in the crowd who is "flush," and that means who will pay.

For the Villagers are not parsimonious; they stand in no danger of ever making themselves rich and thus acquiring place in the accursed class called the Philistines! It is beyond question that the French have a genius for hospitality.
It must be rooted in their beautiful, national tact, that gracious impulse combining chivalry to women, friendliness to men and courtesy to all which is so characteristic of "the world's sweetheart" France.
I have never seen a French restaurant where the most casual visitor was not made personally and charmingly welcome, and I have never seen such typically French restaurants as the Lafayette and the Brevoort.
And the Villagers feel it too.

From the shabbiest socialist to the most flagrantly painted little artist's model, they drift in thankfully to that atmosphere of gaiety and sympathy and thoughtful kindliness which is, after all, just--the air of France.
Next let us take a restaurant of quite another type, not far from the Brevoort--all the Village eating places are close together--walk across the square, a block further, and you are there.
It is not many years since Bohemia ate chiefly in the side streets, at restaurants such as Enrico's, Baroni's--there are a dozen such places.

They still exist, but the Village is dropping away from them.
They are very good and very cheap, and the tourist--that is, the uptowner--thinks he is seeing Bohemia when he eats in them, but not many of them remain at all characteristic.

Bertolotti's is something of an exception.