I saw one of these model caravans at the Fair du Trône; it contained dining and drawing-rooms, a bedroom and servant’s room. Through the open window of the drawing-room, I heard the refrain of one of Métra’s waltzes. I went nearer and saw that the musician was a charming young girl, wearing a plush dressing-gown, conscientiously practising the piano. I leave you with this vision of middle-class prosperity. I hope it will correct, as far as may be, the very false ideas which hitherto you may have cherished about _banquistes_ and their wandering lives. [Illustration: M. NAEL SALSBURY.] FOOTNOTES: [1] _Grande banque_ is a general term for large shows and theatres in a fair. _Petite banque_ is used for small shows, such as “fatma,” giants, &c. _Banquistes_ includes all persons showing or performing on a fair ground, circus, or variety entertainment. I am indebted to Mr. John Holden, the owner of the popular _Palais des Fantocche_, for these definitions: there do not appear to be any equivalent words in English slang.—NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR. [2] _Forain_ is the cant word used for all merchants with their wares who sell in fairs, but it is also applied generally to all owners of travelling shows and amusements. See Chapter II., page 37. [Illustration] [p037] [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE FAIR. Fashion, which regulates our amusements, has decreed for some years past, that when at Easter time we direct our steps to the Fair du Trône, our little excursion is quite “the correct thing.” The faubourgs and suburbs no longer enjoy the monopoly of the fun collected at the foot of the two columns, the caps of the swells from Vincennes, and the hair-nets of the Cytherean bataillon from Montreuil-sous-Bois are no longer the sole head-dresses visible. The Gingerbread Fair has its reserved days like the Opera and the Comédie, and on Tuesdays and Fridays the largest profits [p038] are made. Really, if you strolled in that direction about five o’clock on one of these select afternoons, you would be surprised to see the long line of carriages standing in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and the Boulevard Voltaire. For every three cabs, in which a party of students are enjoying themselves in somewhat noisy fashion with their little companions, you will find one gentleman’s carriage with servants in livery, or, at least, a hired victoria occupied by women in over-smart dresses, who are making their annual excursion to the fair, accompanied by the “mashers” of the year. It is curious to watch these society people when they visit this populous district which they have never seen except through the windows of mourning carriages on the road to Père la Chaise, or on the eve of a capital execution, lighted by the windows of the small taverns in a cruel bustle of festivity. Secretly, they feel a little uneasy. The too demonstrative enjoyment, the cries, shouts and songs, the incessant