In four years--in four years--in four years! The words beat dully at Grégoire's temples, as he watched the cab swing round the corner of the Institut toward the quai Malaquais, with Jean's handkerchief fluttering at the window of the portière. Four years--four years--four years! How easy it was to say for one who did not know that the end had come,--that the moths of fancy that fly by night must be caught by others now, that the siren of absinthe was standing ready to claim her own! Grégoire mounted the stairs slowly, unlocked the door, and stepped into the familiar room, dim now in the last faint light of day. His absinthe stood upon the table, and he took it up, and paused, looking about him. Presently he went forward to the mantel, and, laying one hand upon it, bent forward, peering at a little photograph of Jean which leaned against the mirror. The woodwork jarred under his touch, and Le Pochard in his corner stirred, ticked feebly, and strove to raise his cup to his lips. Wheeling at the sound, Grégoire met the eyes of the dissipated little toy for a full minute, motionless and silent. Then with a sob, he hurled his glass into the grate, where it was shivered into a hundred fragments, and flung himself on his knees by the divan, with his face buried in his hands. "Mon frèrot!" he murmured, "my little brother--help me--help me to be strong." On the mantle, Le Pochard bent his head and gazed shamefacedly upon the ground. For his reign was at an end. [Illustration] A Latter-Day Lucifer THE distance between them is far less than is commonly supposed. In fact, they are separated only by a parti-wall. But there is a vast difference in their exteriors, Heaven being gay with silver paint and stucco cherubs, and illuminated by a huge arc-light with a white globe, and Hell all red, with a monster's grinning mouth for entrance, and a ruby lamp. The two cabarets stand on the boulevard de Clichy, side by side, and, when one is passing through Paris on a Cook ticket, good for a two weeks' stay, one is taken by an obliging friend of the Colony to see them, and so is enabled to return to the States with the pleasing conviction of having had a glimpse of the true life of Montmartre,--the which is so artistic, and Bohemian, and all that.