To innumerable blousards in Paris these dancers are objects of emulation.  The Valentino supports a large troupe of such performers, and is less often the scene of the blousard’s efforts, therefore, than ball-rooms where the regular corps of dancers is smaller.  The matter of the admission-fee also regulates the blousard to some extent in his choice of resort.  At the mask-balls he most favors—­such as the Elysee-Montmartre at the Barriere Rochechouart, or the Tivoli Waux-Hall (sic) near the Chateau d’Eau—­there is no charge for admission to cavaliers in costume.  Tourists sometimes stumble upon these places, but not often:  they are remote from the gay quarter which foreigners haunt.

The neighborhood of the Chateau d’Eau—­an immense paved space at the junction of the Boulevards St. Martin and du Temple—­is to the blousard what the neighborhood of the Madeleine is to the small shopkeeper.  He does not frequent it every day:  it is a scene for special visits—­more expensive than the immediate quarter where he eats, drinks and sleeps, and more attractive.  There is a cafe on the southern side of the esplanade, where, if you go on a Saturday night, you may see a curious sight.  It is after midnight that the place is thronged.  Descending a broad flight of steps, you turn to the right and go down another flight, entering an immense underground hall, broken up with sturdy square pillars, and brilliant with mirrors which line walls and pillars in every direction.  Here are gathered a great number of men and women, sitting at the tables, drinking beer and wine, playing cards, dominoes and backgammon, and filling the air with the incessant din of conversation and the smoke of pipes and cigars.  The women are generally bareheaded or in muslin caps.  The men are almost without exception in blouses—­some white, some black, some in the newest stages of shiny blue gingham, some faded with long wearing and frequent washing.  Caps and soft hats are universal:  a tall hat is nowhere to be seen—­a fact which is much more significant in Paris than it would be in America, for in Paris the tall hat is almost de rigueur among the better classes.  Girls from sixteen to twenty years of age stroll in from the street bareheaded with the cool manner of boys, quite alone and unconcerned, looking around quietly to see if there is any one they know:  in case of recognizing an acquaintance they perhaps sit down to a game or stand with hands in pockets and converse.  They have not the air of nymphes du pave, and are simply grisettes (working-girls), passing away their idle hours in precisely the same independent way as if they were of the opposite sex.  For the price of the glass of beer which he orders when he sits down (six cents) the blousard can sit here all night, playing cards and smoking.