Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1889-02-28
II PERE.LACHAISE.
CHAPTER I.-BEBE.

that curious apartment would have sat
isfied almost anyone that the occupant
was veritable modern Bohemian. "Why
sophistical!"
Because vast number of men are ut
terly characterless, and yet every man
has surroundings of one sort or another.
Well, Nine. Gelot threw open the door
one day to show the room to a friend
"Meester StanbrOugh-he has been here
enc year Seel" she said, pointing
her ancient finger toward the interior.
The friend looked in cautiously. She
saw spacious, low-ceilinged room liber-
ally furnished with easy-chairs, tables,
and bOok-shelyes. In an alcOve stood q
bed, canOpied, and with half-drawn cur
tains. A swift glance over the walls and
floor, into the corners, across the tables,
mantle, shelves, bureau, and window
gills, under the tables, and in the seats of
the chairs, revealed the presence of an
astonishingly varied and utterly unor-
ganized collection of antiquities, bric-a-
brac, photographs, pictures, pipes, rugs,
small casts, odd pieces of furniture,
books, busts, periodicals, and the like.
The aggregation had become SO large
that Mime. Gelot had despairingly given
up any attempt at order. She aimed on
" at cleanliness. At irregular intervals
"Meester" Scarborough would set about
30 "clear the place up" There would be
o vigorous upheaval for a few moments
then Scarborough would put on his hat,
lock the door, and cross the street to the
cafe opposite, where they kept Munich
beer.
One evening the genius of the place
was sitting in an armchair slowly turn
ing the leaves of an old edition of the
poems of Villou which he had picked up
IN one Of his ramble5 through the book
shops. When he came to the page bear
ing the ''ballade' ''Where are the Ladies'
of Olden Tmc5?" he stopped. Curious
thing about Villou," he thought, as he
glanced down the familiar lines, "Always
wondering where the pretty women had
gone. Where is Flora, la belle Ro-
maine? where is 'Jeleau, la bonnie Lor-
raine? where is ia tres-sage HeloiseY-
ahi la tres-sage Heloise'-well, she's in
Pere-Lachaise M. Francois Villou; but
where art thou-thou golden-tongued,
hght-fngered poet-bandit? Reminds me,
though, I've never been to Pere-Lachaise.
Must make a pilgrimage some day to the
tomb of Heloise and Abelard." He closed
the book and looked at his watch. 1t
was nearly 10 o'clock. "Rather late for
Pere-Lachaise, but not too late for Bebe,"
he thought. Putting on high hat, a
light coat, and taking a slender cane, he
lighted cigar, turned down the lamp,
and started for the Cafe Tucoherent.
When he got there the cafe was in an
uproar. 1t was packed by good-na-
tured, boisterous, clamorous crowd. The
walters smiled grimly as they passed up
and down the narrow, graveled aisles
with their trays laden with "consomma-
TONS" 1t was one of the Tucoherent's
most incOherent nights. A vocalist had
attempted to sing with his hat on. The
crowd was on the qui vive for fun, and
someone had shouted "Chapeau" In
stantly hundred voices caught up the
cry-"Chapeau! has lie chapeau, Chap
eaul chapeau! bas lie chapeaur' The
singer removed his hat and the noise
ceased. AT intervals throughout the
song he bestowed it to his name, but the
moment he did so his voice was drowned
by the vociferous yelling, which contin-
ued until he submitted. The next singer
appeared with his hat on, and kept it on
throughout his song. He was greeted
with o volley of "Chapeaux" The yells
grew into a hOarse roar. A deafening
din followed. Cones, feet, beer-mugs,
and anything and everything that could
make a noise was utilized. Not a word
of the song was heard-the movements
of the singers mouth and the leaders
baton alone indicated that the programme
was progressing. Having braved it out,
the singer bowed himself off the stage
smilinglv. The crowd got its breath.
Suddenly the leader flourished his baton,
the music began again, and Bebe, the
latest favOrite. tripped down to the foot
lights, in the daintiest and most bewitch-
ing of costumes. She was received with
q CHI IF no
military song with a rollicking dash and
a coquettish grace that the crowd relish
ed hugely, and it fell an easy prey to her
magnetic, animated style. Between the
verses she was pronounced to be fascin-
ating, captivating, irresistible; there was
an incompatible "eclat," ''elan" about
her-but the song was finished. She
bowed with a saucy smile, executed pas
fantastique, and disappeared. The crowd
was delighted and the place resound-
ed with cries of IBIS! bravo-o-oi bis! bi-i-
is bravop' By the time that Bebe had
responded to the tumultuous encore,
Scarborough had pushed his way through
the crowd and was waiting for her at the
stage door. She had recognized the
american" as she called him. She APP
peared shortly in street dress and they
left the cafe. Bebe was startling hand
Her eyes had all the mystery of thedesert
and the warmth of the orient in them.
Her forehead was low and broad, her
mouth eXquisitely formed, her complex
ion clear olive, her hair dark and abund-
ant, and her figure was Egyptian in its
grace and p0iSe. She moved with the
consciousness Of physical perfection, or,
as Scarborough chose to express it. like
"blooded horse; for Scarborough, although
he was not in the least ''horsey," greatly
admired thoroughbred horSes-not SO
much for their qualities of speed, as for
sheir grace of form and movement.
Bebe's origin was rather nomadic-as
one might say. Hermother was a French
cantinlerre, and her father was an Al
gerian chief. She was in truth a child
of the desert. As they drove to the cafe
de Ia P for ''pe1it souper." Bebe
gave an animated description of the bur-
ial of one of her friends that afternoon
by wealthy admirer. The supper was
charming. There was happy and gem
erous elasticity IN Bebe'S temperament
that permitted her to witness the burial
of a friend at 3 o'clock. reign as queen Of
3 cafe Chantat at II, and to laugh and
chatter gaily over supper at midnight
She filled a glass, raised 1t with pretty
gesture, and sang a verse or two. The
attitude. outline. costume, cOlOr-the
light playing in her dark eyes, the curve
of the arm, and the white, heieweled
hand, crowned by the delicate, shining
glass were all very pretty-it would have
made picture for the salon.
The next morning Scarborough glanced
over the volume of Villou again as he
drank his chocolate, which good Nine.