Into this vehicle they placed a rickety old divan and a very much dilapidated mattress; then came half a sack of coal, a tiny, rusty, round studio stove with interminable yards of battered and soot-filled pipe, a pine table, two rush-bottomed chairs, and a big box filled with clattering dishes, kettles, pots, and pans. On top of this came a thick roll of dusty, faded, threadbare hangings and rugs, and the meagre wardrobes of the artist and the grisette; then a number of hat-boxes, after which Mademoiselle looked with great solicitude. Last of all came bulky portfolios filled with the artist's work, a large number of canvases that were mostly studies of Mademoiselle au naturel, with such accessories as easel, paint-boxes, and the like, and the linen and bedding. The fat old concierge stood grumbling near by, for the ropes were being tied over the load, and she was anxiously waiting for her _dernier adieu_, or parting tip, that it is the custom to give upon surrendering the key. But tips are sometimes hard to give, and Bohemian etiquette does not regard them with general favor. After the load had been made snug, the artist approached the concierge, doffed his cap, bowed low, and then in a most impressively ceremonious manner handed her the key, avowed that it broke his heart to leave her, and commended her to God. That was all. There seems to be a special providence attending upon the vocabulary of concierges in their hour of need. The shrill, condemnatory, interminable vocalization of this concierge's wrath indicated specific abilities of exceptional power. But the artist paid no attention. He hung his coat and "plug" hat on the inverted table-leg, got between the shafts, hitched himself in the harness, and sailed out of the court, his friends swarming around and assisting him to drag the toppling cart away. And this they did with a mighty will, yelling and singing with a vigor that wholly obliterated the concierge's noise. The little grisette closed the procession, bearing in one hand a lamp and in the other a fragile bust. And so the merry party started, possibly for the other end of Paris,--the greater the distance the more the fun. They all knew that when the voiture had been unloaded and all had fallen to and assisted the young couple in straightening out their new home, there would be a jolly celebration in the nearest _café_ at the moving artist's expense. So the start was made fairly and smoothly; but the enthusiasm of the crowd was so high and the little vehicle was so top-heavy, that at the end of the passage the comedy seemed about to merge into a tragedy. It was announced to all the court in the shrill voice of the concierge, who exultingly screamed,--"The stove has fallen out! and the coal! The things are falling all over the street! Oh, you villain!" To the movers themselves it was merely an incident that added to the fun and zest of the enterprise. [Illustration: 0326]