who between them evolved and made the splendid Paris that we know.

We loved the Tuileries gardens, a most attractive place for
children in those days. There were swings and merry-go-rounds;
there were stalls where hot brioches and gaufres were to be
bought; there were, above all, little marionette theatres where
the most fascinating dramas were enacted. Our enjoyment of these
performances was rather marred by our anxious nurse, who was
always terrified lest there should be "something French" in the
little plays; something quite unfitted for the eyes and ears of
two staid little Britons. As the worthy woman was a most
indifferent French scholar, we were often hurried away quite
unnecessarily from the most innocuous performances when our
faithful watch-dog scented the approach of "something French." All
the shops attracted us, but especially the delightful toy-shops.
Here, again, we were seldom allowed to linger, our trusty guardian
being obsessed with the idea that the toy-shops might include
amongst their wares "something French." She was perfectly right;
there WAS often something "very French," but my brother and I had
always seen it and noted it before we were moved off from the
windows.

I wonder if any "marchands de coco" still survive in Paris. "Coco"
had nothing to do with cocoa, but was a most mawkish beverage
compounded principally of liquorice and water. The attraction
about it lay in the great tank the vendor carried strapped to his
back. This tank was covered with red velvet and gold tinsel, and
was surmounted with a number of little tinkling silver bells. In
addition to that, the "marchand de coco" carried all over him
dozens of silver goblets, or, at all events, goblets that looked