It was evident that Mr. Thompkins had reserved his enthusiasm for the great dance-hall of Montmartre,--Le Moulin Rouge,--with its women of the half world, its giddiness, its glare, its noise, its naughtiness. [Illustration: 0310] Here at last we should find all absence of restraint, posing, sordidness, self-consciousness, and appeals to abnormal appetites. Mr. Thompkins visibly brightened as we ascended the incline of the entrance and came within the influence of the life and abandon of the place. Indeed, it must have seemed like fairy-land to him. The soft glow of hundreds of lights fell upon the crowds in the ball-room and balconies, with their shifting streams of color from the moving figures of dancing women in showy gowns and saucy hats, and its many chatting, laughing, joyous groups at the tables along the passage and the balconies, enjoying merry little suppers and varied consommations that kept scores of garçons continually on the move. A placard announced American Bar; American and English Drinks--as bald and unashamed as that. Here on high stools, American free-lunch fashion, ranged along the bar, were English and American tourists and French dandies sipping Manhattan cocktails with a cherry, brandy-and-soda, Tom-and-Jerry, and the rest. Along the walls hung vivid paintings of some of the famous dancing-girls of the Moulin, their saucy faces half hidden in clouds of lacy white skirts. High up on a pretty balcony at the end of the huge ball-room were the musicians, enjoying their cigarettes and bocks between pieces. A small stage occupied the opposite end of the room, where a light vaudeville performance had been given; but that was all over now, and attention centred in the tables and the dancing.