"Des escaliers du temps de la serrurerie, Larges, la rampe en fer, ouvragés, bien dallés, Donnant sur un cour propre à la rêverie. "Maison Laveur! hier, c'était là qu'attablés Devant la soupe aux choux, nous guettions, mon Lemoyne, La petite servante aux rougeurs de pivoine." The student of Glatigny, who must always admire the rhythm and melody of his Muse, will also remember his quaint sonnet published in "Gilles et Pasquins," entitled "Monselet devoured by the Lobsters." The works of Henri Murger are replete with epulary sketches of the old Latin Quarter of Paris, a district from which Victor Hugo has also drawn. Théodore de Banville has likewise depicted many a picturesque restaurant scene in his airy "Odes Funambulesques." The lyrists, too, have not been unmindful of the poetry of the kitchen. Many visitors to Paris will remember dining at Bignon's, and doubtless will equally recall the figures of the _addition_. Of this restaurant, whose carte was devoid of prices, it was said that a man who dined at the corner table for a period of years became a cosmopolite--in every capital of Europe he would be recognised and fêted; for that matter, he did not need to rise from his chair, as all Europe would pass in review before him. A provincial dining there in April, on perceiving melons on the card, ordered one. "What!" he exclaimed, after examining his bill, "thirty francs for a melon! You are joking!" "Monsieur," replied Bignon, "if you can find me three or four at the same price, I will buy them immediately." "Fifteen francs for a peach?" inquired Prince Narischkin; "they must be very scarce." "It isn't the peaches that are scarce, _mon prince_; it is the Narischkins." "Monsieur Bignon, a red herring at two and a half francs! It seems to me that is excessive." "But these prices are marked in your interest," rejoined the restaurateur. "It is the barrier I have established between my clients and the vulgar. Why do you come here? To be among yourselves, to avoid embarrassing or compromising surroundings. If I changed my prices, the house would be invaded, and you would all leave." Another patron who complained of a sauce was asked, "Did you dine here last evening?" "No," he replied. "That is the trouble, then; you spoiled your taste in the other restaurant." Still another guest objected to the charges on his bill, comparing it with an identical breakfast of a few days previous which amounted to eighteen and a half francs, whereas the breakfast in question was charged twenty-one francs, eighty centimes. "I will investigate the mistake," said Bignon, who, with the two bills, proceeded to the desk, returning shortly afterwards. "It is very true, Monsieur, that a mistake was made in your favour last Monday; but I make no claim for restitution!"