It was essentially a good world, whatever the pessimists might say! From a side-table he heard his name called, and with an added glow of pleasure, he turned, saw Blake, and made his way through the closely ranged chairs and the throng of hurrying waiters.
"Well, boy! Dissipation suits you, it seems! You're looking well.

Just out of bed, I suppose ?" Max laughed.

Words were brimming to his lips, until he knew not how to speak.
"And now, what 'll you eat?
I waited to order until you came." "I do not know that I can eat." "God bless my soul, why not?
Sit down!" Max laughed again, dropped obediently into a chair, rested his arms on the table, and looked full at Blake.
"May I speak ?" "From now till Doomsday! _Garcon_!" But Max laid an impulsive hand upon his arm.
"Wait! Do not order for one moment! I must tell you!" He gave a little gasp of excitement.

"I have seen an _appartement_ in the rue Mueller--an _appartement_ with a charming _salon_ opening upon a balcony, a nice little bedroom, another room with an excellent painting light, a kitchen with water and gas, all--all for what do you imagine ?" "What in God's name are you raving about ?" Blake laid down the _menu_ just handed to him.
Max paid not the slightest heed.
"All for two hundred and sixty francs the year! Figure it to yourself! Two hundred and sixty francs the year! What one would pay in a couple of days for a suite of hotel rooms! I am mad since I have seen the place--quite mad!" He laughed again so excitedly that the people at the neighboring table stared.
"I can subscribe to that!" said Blake, satirically.
"Listen! Listen! You have not heard; you have not understood.

I have found an _appartement_ in the rue Mueller, at Montmartre--the _appartement_ I had set my heart upon, the place where I can live and paint and make my success!" Blake stared at him in silence.
"Yes! Yes!" Max insisted.