But be it known that the especial dancers, those who do these extraordinary leaps and contortions, are such by profession, who get so much per night, the same as at any other theater. This style of dancing was always in favor in Paris among the people, and the proprietor of the place, finding that it attracted strangers, reduced it to a system. He hires a certain number of dancers, the same as he does his orchestra, and these set the fashion for the citizens who indulge in terpsichorean gymnastics. You can easily detect the professionals. They come on the floor at regular intervals and do their dreary performance coolly and in a purely professional way, without any more emotion than they would manifest in combing their hair. I do not know what it might have been in other days, but at present writing it is about the tamest place I know of. I overheard this conversation between two young ladies one morning:-- "Mary, dear, where did you go last evening? I could not find you." "Ah, don't tell anybody, but Mamie, and Charlie, and I, went to the Mabille." "Is it good?" "Good! It is nothing. _It is the most shockingly moral place I ever saw. Why, anybody can go there._" Mary dear had expected to be shocked, but she was not. Possibly the world never saw so much of her lower limbs as it did of the ladies dancing at the Mabille, but I will venture to say that she, herself, under the eyes of her prudish mamma at home, had more than made that up by display from the neck downward, a great many times. [Illustration: A MALE DANCER AT JARDIN BULLIER.] [Sidenote: GARDENS OTHER THAN MABILLE.] It is not altogether pleasant for young Americans of the gentler sex to visit Mabille, no matter how good their escort. There are too many draw-backs to the pleasure, and it is being continually marred. I noticed one party, a young lady and gentleman who were perpetually troubled; they would be observing something that interested them, when very suddenly the girl would exclaim, "Charley, this way! quick! There comes Sadie Mercer, and I would not have her see me here for anything. Sammy Burton is with her!" They rose and darted down a path-way, only to turn and meet another party whom they knew, and so on. The most of the evening was spent in vain endeavors to keep their acquaintances from knowing they were there, and their friends were similarly employed. There was no occasion for all this effort. Everybody goes to the Mabille, once at least, because everybody must. But it isn't worth the time, however. [Illustration: THE GRISETTE WHO PREFERS THE JARDIN BULLIER.]