As we entered a wrangle was
going on among a group of young Frenchmen picturesquely attired
as art students--almost a sure sign that they were not art students.
An undersized girl dressed in a shabby black-and-yellow frock was
doing a Spanish dance on a cleared space in the middle of the floor.
We knew her instantly for a Spanish dancer, because she had a fan
in one hand and a pair of castanets in the other. Another girl,
dressed as a pierrot, was waiting to do her turn when the Spanish
dancer finished. Weariness showed through the lacquer of thick
cosmetic on her peaked little face. An orchestra of three pieces
sawed wood steadily; and at intervals, to prove that these were
gay and blithesome revels, somebody connected with the establishment
threw small, party-colored balls of celluloid about. But what
particularly caught our attention was the presence in a far corner
of two little darkies in miniature dress suits, both very wally
of eye, very brown of skin, and very shaved as to head, huddled
together there as though for the poor comfort of physical contact.
As soon as they saw us they left their place and sidled up, tickled
beyond measure to behold American faces and hear American voices.
They belonged, it seemed, to a troupe of jubilee singers who had
been imported from the States for the delectation of French
audiences.
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