BUT, Major, I whispered, why is the bridegroom wearing an old coat That cut is out of date. The Majors eyes twinkled. I wondered if you would notice it, he replied. Its what I brought you here to see. If you will go to luncheon with me wherever I choose to take you directly the wedding is over, 1 11 tell you the story of that coat. Half an hour later the Major and I were sitting together at a little table in a small caf6 within the borders of that quarter of our city known as Bohemia. The caf6 was Parisian, unmistakably, from the door-sill, on which a thin layer of white sand was spread in lieu of-a mat, to the back of the room, where, perched on a dais fenced off like a proscenium-box, madame the proprietress presided-behind her, a set of narrow shelves holding tier after tier of multi- hued bottles before her, a row of neat glasscases exhibiting different brands of cigars, various cheeses, or tasteful plates of arranged fruits, comfits, and moulded jellies. Monsieur le mari was absorbed in tending the foliageplants of his show-window as we entered his establishment. He was turning the earth with a hair-pin, evidently borrowed from madame, and looked up to gravely bow to the Major, not removing his little black silk skull - cap. Later, his hands clasped behind his broad back, he wandered with apparent indifference about the room, chirping occasionally to the caged canaries that hung high among the green vines trained to grow upon the walls. Madame bowed to the Major also, mith the same grave respect, and the Major called the waiter by his Christian name as he hurried forward to meet us and take our order. Evidently he was at home. Just glance about YOU, said the Major, mith a certain proprietary pride. It is easy enough to understand how in a great cosmopolis like this we have only to walk a block and turn a corner to travel from Jerusalem to Bagdad, but I have never known the very aroma of an imported country so perfectly preserved as in this little cafe. Those art students over there, for instance-arent they having a good, innocent, Parisian kind of a time I looked across the room through the thin blue mist of cigarette and cigar smoke. The ventilation was good, so the air was only clouded, not heavy. From her box madame was smiling her reserved smile upon a party of young men who had just entered and were rather noisily improvising a banquet-board in the centre of the floor by setting a number of the little wooden tables which the caf6 afforded side by side in a row. As loudly greeted additions to the party came dropping in, more tables were drawn up, until the board waxed long and the mirth high...