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Rh "Yes; but your system is a very imprudent one. You'll ruin your digestion."

"You show me a means of getting rich, and I'll drop the system like a hot potato. If you've got any Philistines to be despoiled, trot 'em around to my studio, and I'll feast like an epicure every day as long as they hold out. Otherwise—don't talk to me about digestion."

"Where is your studio?"

"My studio and residence combined are around in the Rue St.-Jacques, on the top floor of the Hotel du St.-Esprit. 'Sky-parlor reaching heavenward far,' you understand. And I'll tell you what. Don't you want to come over there with me now? I'll show you some of my work. I possess the largest collection of Palmers in existence."

"I should like to, above all things."

"Well, come on."

Ormizon called for the reckoning, and was about to pay it, when Lancelot cut in with,—

"Oh, I say. Just compute my share of that, will you? How much is it?"

"Oh, that's all right," returned Ormizon. "This is my treat."

"Not much it isn't. Not if the court knows itself, and it strongly suspects it does. Just calculate my percentage of our liabilities, and allow me to fork over. You see, I can't afford to let you treat me; for I shall never be able to return the compliment. No, sir; we'll have to proceed on the Philadelphian plan from the beginning. Besides, it's the mode here in Paris; and there's nothing like being à la mode."

So Lancelot, who, like the improvident Bohemian that he was, denied himself bread and meat, and then squandered the price of a dinner upon absinthe-à-la-gomme,—Lancelot contributed his portion of the sum due; and the two young men set forth, arm in arm, for the Rue St.-Jacques. Their course thither led them back up the Rue Soufflot, and past the door of Denise's house.

Sweeping the facade of it with his glance, "I suppose our fair friends are wrapped in blissful slumber," Lancelot observed. "May their dreams be as sweet as their dispositions! What—what a regular daisy that little Mamselle is, ain't she?"

"She's very charming," Ormizon admitted.

"So gentle and helpless and sort of appealing, don't you know? Yes, sir, she and the doctor make a first-rate team."

The Hôtel du St.-Esprit was a dingy students' lodging-house, with a great sign over the entrance, advertising "Chambres et cabinets meublés."

"Now comes the tug of war," Palmer said. "Breathe through your nose, and take it easy."

He led the way up five flights of stairs.

"Well, sir, here we are," he resumed, when they had reached the top. He unlocked a door. "Winded, but still intact, here we are in my castle and my sanctum, my bedroom, my kitchen, my atelier, my boudoir, and my salon. Just stay where you are till I strike a light. Otherwise, you might upset something, or hark your shins."