BOHEMIAN CAFÉS
VERY often, instead of having dinner at the studio, we saunter over to the Maison Dar-blay, passing the wall of the dismal Cimetière du Montparnasse on the way. The Maison Darblay is in the little Rue de la Gaieté, which, though only a block in length, is undoubtedly the liveliest thoroughfare in the Quartier. That is because it serves as a funnel between the Avenue du Maine and five streets that converge into it at the upper end. Particularly in the early evening the little street is crowded with people returning from their work. All sorts of boutiques are packed into this minute thoroughfare,—-jewelry-shops, pork-shops, kitchens (where they cook what you bring while you wait on the sidewalk), theatres, cafés chantants, fried-potato stalls, snail merchants, moving vegetable- and fruit-markets, and everything else.
In the middle of the block, on the western side, between a millinery- shop and a butcher-shop, stands the Maison Darblay, famous for its beans and its patrons. A modest white front, curtained windows, and a row of milk-cans give little hint of the charms of the interior. Upon entering we encounter the vast M. Darblay seated behind a tiny counter, upon which are heaped a pile of freshly ironed napkins, parcels of chocolate, a big dish of apple-sauce, rows of bottles containing bitters that work miracles with ailing appetites, and the tip-box. Reflecting M. Darblay's beamy back and the clock on the opposite wall (which is always fifteen minutes fast) hangs a long mirror resplendent in heavy gilt frame; it is the pride of the establishment, and affords comfort to the actresses when they adjust their hats and veils upon leaving.