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odel； laying down and taking up the boasting…tool； quickly wiping her fingers with the little sponge； while the light and peace of a fine Sunday afternoon fell on the top…light of the studio。 Felicia 〃received〃 every Sunday； if to receive were to leave her door open to allow people to come in； go out； sit down for a moment； without stirring from her work or even interrupting the course of a discussion to welcome the new arrivals。 They were artists； with refined heads and luxuriant beards； here and there you might see among them white…haired friends of Ruys； her father； then there were society men； bankers； stock…brokers； and a few young men about town； come to see the handsome girl rather than her sculpture； in order to be able to say at the club in the evening； 〃I was at Felicia's to…day。〃 Among them was Paul de Gery； silent； absorbed in an admiration which each day sunk into his heart a little more deeply； trying to understand the beautiful sphinx draped in purple cashmere and ecru lace； who worked away bravely amid her clay； a burnisher's apron reaching nearly to her neck； allowing her small； proud head to emerge with those transparent tones； those gleams of veiled radiance of which the sense； the inspiration bring the blood to the cheek as they pass。 Paul always remembered what had been said of her in his presence； endeavoured to form an opinion for himself； doubted； worried himself； and was charmed； vowing to himself each time that he would come no more and never missing a Sunday。 A little woman with gray； powdered hair was always there in the same place； her pink face like a pastel somewhat worn by years； who； in the discrete light of a recess； smiled sweetly； with her hands lying idly on her knees； motionless as a fakir。 Jenkins； amiable； with his open face； his black eyes； and his apostolical manner； moved on from one group to another； liked and known by all。 He did not miss； either； one of Felicia's days； and； indeed； he showed his patience in this； all the snubs of his hostess both as artist and pretty woman being reserved for him alone。 Without appearing to notice them； with ever the same smiling； indulgent serenity； he continued to pay his visits to the daughter of his old Ruys； of the man whom he had so loved and tended to his last moments。
This time； however； the question which Felicia had just addressed to him respecting his son appeared extremely disagreeable to him； and it was with a frown and a real expression of annoyance that he replied： 〃Ma foi！ I know no more than yourself what he is doing。 He has quite deserted us。 He was bored at home。 He cares only for his Bohemia。〃
Felicia gave a jump that made them all start； and with flashing eyes and nostrils that quivered； said：
〃That is too absurd。 Ah； now； come； Jenkins。 What do you mean by Bohemia？ A charming word； by…the…bye； and one that ought to recall long days of wandering in the sun； halts in woody nooks； all the freshness of fruits gathered by the open road。 But since you have made a reproach of the name； to whom do you apply it？ To a few poor devils with long hair； in love with liberty in rags； who starve to death in a fifth…floor garret； or seek rhymes under tiles through which the rain filters； to those madmen； growing more and more rare； who； from horror of the customary； the traditional； the stupidity of life； have put their feet together and made a jump into freedom？ Come； that is too old a story。 It is the Bohemia of Murger； with the workhouse at the end； terror of children； boon of parents； Red Riding…Hood eaten by the wolf。 It was worn out a long time ago； that story。 Nowadays； you know well that artists are the most regular people in their habits on earth； that they earn money； pay their debts； and contrive to look like the first man you may meet on the street。 The true Bohemians exist； however； they are the backbone of our society； but it is in your own world especially that they are to be found。 /Parbleu！/ They bear no external stamp and nobody distrusts them； but； so far as uncertainty； want of substantial foundation in their lives is concerned； they have nothing to wish for from those whom they call so disdainfully 'irregulars。' Ah！ if we knew how much turpitude； what fantastic or abominable stories； a black evening…coat； the most correct of your hideous modern garments； can mask。 Why； see； Jenkins； the other evening at your house I was amusing myself by counting them all these society adventurers〃
The little old lady； pink and powdered； put in gently from her place：
〃Felicia； take care！〃
But she continued； without listening：
〃What do you call Monpavon； doctor？ And Bois l'Hery？ And de Mora himself？ And〃 She was going to say 〃and the Nabob？〃 but stopped herself。
〃And how many others！ Oh； truly； you may well speak of Bohemia with contempt。 But your fashionable doctor's clientele； oh sublime Jenkins； consists of that very thing alone。 The Bohemia of commerce； of finance； of politics； unclassed people； shady people of all castes； and the higher one ascends the more you find of them； because rank gives impunity and wealth can pay for rude silence。〃
She spoke with a hard tone； greatly excited； with lip curled by a savage disdain。 The doctor forced a laugh and assumed a light； condescending tone； repeating： 〃Ah； feather…brain； feather…brain！〃 And his glance； anxious and beseeching； sought the Nabob； as though to demand his pardon for all these paradoxical impertinences。
But Jansoulet； far from appearing vexed； was so proud of posing to this handsome artist； so appreciative of the honour that was being done him； that he nodded his head approvingly。
〃She is right； Jenkins；〃 said he at last； 〃she is right。 It is we who are the true Bohemia。 Take me； for example； take Hemerlingue； two of the men who handle the most money in Paris。 When I think of the point from which we started； of all the trades through which we have made our way。 Hemerlingue； once keeper of a regimental canteen。 I； who have carried sacks of wheat in the docks of Marseilles for my living。 And the strokes of luck by which our fortunes have been built upas all fortunes； moreover； in these times are built up。 Go to the Bourse between three and five。 But； pardon； mademoiselle； see； through my absurd habit of gesticulating when I speak； I have lost the pose。 Come； is this right？〃
〃It is useless；〃 said Felicia。 A true daughter of an artist； of a genial and dissolute artist； thoroughly in the romantic tradition； as was Sebastien Ruys。 She had never known her mother。 She was the fruit of one of those transient loves which used to enter suddenly into the bachelor life of the sculptor like swallows into a dovecote of which the door is always open； and who leave it again because no nest can be built there。
This time； the lady； ere she flew away； had left to the great artist； then about forty years of age； a beautiful child whom he had brought up； and who became the joy and the passion of his life。 Until she was thirteen； Felicia had lived in her father's house； introducing a childish and tender note into that studio full of idlers； models； and huge greyhounds lying at full length on the couches。 There was a corner reserved for her； for her attempts at sculptur