It is, very probably, with one of these "Fraternal Associations of Cooks" that the student proceeds to dine. These societies, which are fast multiplying in every quarter of Paris, are patronized principally by Republicans who are red, and by Monarchists who are poor. The former are attracted by sympathy, the latter are driven by necessity. Indeed, a _plat_ at six sous, which is the usual price at these establishments, is a very appropriate reward for the one, or refuge for the other. At these establishments--which had no existence before the last revolution--every body is equal; there are no masters, and there are no servants. The _garçons_ who wait upon the guests are the proprietors, and the guests themselves are not recognized as having any superior social position. The guest who addresses the waiter as "_garçon_" is very probably insulted, and the _garçon_ who addresses a guest as "_monsieur_" is liable to be expelled from the society. In each case, "_citoyen_" is the current form of courtesy, and any person who objects to the term is free to dine elsewhere. Even the dishes have a republican savor. "_Macaroni à la République_," "_Fricandeau à la Robespierre_," or "_Filet à la Charrier_," are as dear to republican hearts as they are cheap to republican pockets. A dinner of this kind costs the student little more than a franc. If he is more ostentatious, or epicurean, he dines at Risbec's, in the Place de l'Odeon. Here, for one franc, sixty centimes, he has an entertainment consisting of four courses and a dessert, inclusive of half a bottle of _vin ordinaire_. If he is a sensible man, he prefers this to the Associated Cooks, who, it must be confessed, even by republicans of taste, are not quite what might be expected, considering the advancing principles they profess. After dinner, the student, if the Prado or some equally congenial establishment is not open, usually addicts himself to the theatre. His favorite resort is, not the Odeon, as might be supposed, from its superior importance and equal cheapness, but the "Théatre du Luxembourg," familiarly called by its frequenters--why, is a mystery--"Bobineau's." Here the student is in his element. He talks to his acquaintance across the house; indulges in comic demonstrations of ecstasy whenever Mademoiselle Hermance appears on the scene, and, in short, makes himself as ridiculous and contented as can be. Mademoiselle Hermance, it is necessary to add, is the goddess of the quarter, and has nightly no end of worshipers. The theatre itself is every thing that could be desired by any gentleman of advanced principles, who spurns propriety, and inclines himself toward oranges.