"I mean that I have no mind to dine first, and be kicked out of doors afterwards. It is one of those aids to digestion that I can willingly dispense with." "But if I guarantee that the dinner shall be paid for--money down!" "Tra la la!" "You don't believe me? Well, come and see." With this, he went up to Madame Marotte, who, with her niece, had sat down on a bench under a walnut-tree close by, waiting our pleasure. "Would not these ladies prefer to rest here, while we seek for a suitable restaurant and order the dinner?" said Müller insinuatingly. The old lady looked somewhat blank. She was not too tired to go on--thought it a pity to bring us all the way back again--would do, however, as "_ces messieurs_" pleased; and so was left sitting under the walnut-tree, reluctant and disconsolate. "_Tiens! mon enfant_" I heard her say as we turned away, "suppose they don't come back again!" We had promised to be gone not longer, than twenty minutes, or at most half an hour. Müller led the way straight to the _Toison d' Or_. I took him by the arm as we neared the gate. "Steady, steady, _mon gaillard_" I said. "We don't order our dinner, you know, till we've found the money to pay for it." "True--but suppose I go in here to look for it?" "Into the restaurant garden?" "Precisely." CHAPTER XXVI. THE PETIT COURIER ILLUSTRÉ. THE _Toison d' Or_ was but a modest little establishment as regarded the house, but it was surrounded on three sides by a good-sized garden overlooking the river. Here, in the trellised arbors which lined the lawn on either side, those customers who preferred the open air could take their dinners, coffees, and absinthes _al fresco_. The scene when we arrived was at its gayest. There were dinners going on in every arbor; waiters running distractedly to and fro with trays and bottles; two women, one with a guitar, the other with a tamborine, singing under a tree in the middle of the garden; while in the air there reigned an exhilarating confusion of sounds and smells impossible to describe. We went in. Müller paused, looked round, captured a passing waiter, and asked for Monsieur le propriétaire. The waiter pointed over his shoulder towards the house, and breathlessly rushed on his way. Müller at once led the way into a salon on the ground-floor looking over the garden. Here we found ourselves in a large low room containing some thirty or forty tables, and fitted up after the universal restaurant pattern, with cheap-looking glasses, rows of hooks, and spittoons in due number. The air was heavy with the combined smells of many dinners, and noisy with the clatter of many tongues. Behind the fruits, cigars, and liqueur bottles that decorated the _comptoir_ sat a plump, black-eyed little woman in a gorgeous cap and a red silk dress. This lady welcomed us with a bewitching smile and a gracious inclination of the head. "_Ces messieurs_," she said, "will find a vacant table yonder, by the window."