net. In the street it was a common occurrence to encounter some
non-commissioned officer who, entrusted with the catering for his mess,
did his marketing accompanied by two underlings, who bore between them
the great open basket destined to hold his purchases.

[Illustration: A Thriving Merchant]

A picturesque appearance among the hucksters of the market square is the
_boîte de carton_ seller. Blue-bloused, with his stock of lavender or
brown bandboxes strapped in a cardboard Tower of Pisa on his back, he
parades along, his wares finding ready sale; for his visits are
infrequent, and if one does not purchase at the moment, as does Madame,
the opportunity is gone.

The spirit of camaraderie is strong amongst the good folks of the
market. One morning the Artist had paused a moment to make a rough
sketch of a plump, affable man who, shadowed by the green cotton awning
of his stall, was selling segments of round flat cheeses of goat's milk;
vile-smelling compounds that, judged from their outer coating of
withered leaves, straw, and dirt, would appear to have been made in a
stable and dried on a rubbish heap. The subject of the jotting, busy
with his customers, was all unconscious; but an old crone who sat, her
feet resting on a tiny charcoal stove, amidst a circle of decadent
greens, detecting the Artist's action, became excited, and after eyeing
him uneasily for a moment, confided her suspicions as to his ulterior
motive to a round-faced young countryman who retailed flowers close by.
He, recognising us as customers--even then we were laden with his
violets and mimosa--merely smiled at her concern. But his apathy only
served to heighten Madame's agitation. She was unwilling to leave her
snug seat yet felt that her imperative duty lay in acquainting Monsieur