"I hardly know--after that philosophy of yours! I thought of taking you to a little Montmartre _cabaret_, where many a poet wrote his first verses and many an artist sang his first song--a dingy place, but a place with atmosphere." Max clung to his arm, the light flashing into his eyes.

"Oh, my friend, that is the place! That is the place! Let us go--let us run, lest we miss a moment!" "Good! Then hey for the Boulevard de Clichy and the quest of the great idea!".