The beautiful spring days followed one upon another, and our life, Gibran's and mine, went on according to the plan we had laid down for it: we worked in the mornings, each in his own quarters, and in the afternoons and evenings we most often frequented the free academies. And since admission to the museums was free on Sundays, we consecrated that day to visiting the Louvre and the other museums and art exhibitions.

In this period the bonds of familiarity and friendship grew firm between us and the Misses Olga, Suzanne, and Léa, then Rosine and Marguerite... this besides our friends and acquaintances among the men as well!!

Whoever speaks of social life in the Latin Quarter in that era — that is, a few years before the First World War — must make mention of the Café du Dôme, standing at a corner between the Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Montparnasse, which enjoyed a popularity that made the people of that quarter prefer it to the other

cafés, thanks to the unique character that distinguished it. It was the meeting place of writers, artists, and thinkers of every stripe; around its long tables gathered a strange mixture of the human races, discussing and disputing without truce over all manner of principles and philosophies, over the various kinds of literature and art, and over the newest of the new among the world's events... And to complete the show there would strut before the company, every now and then, a certain Moroccan in a red tarboush with a great tassel, wares for sale dangling from his shoulders: pieces of carpet, table

covers, sashes, neckties and the like — and in his pockets forbidden things, to which he would allude with a veiled wink... He would sell some of his goods, or not sell, and pass us by as though he were of some strange world living on the margin of civilization...

Sitting at the Café du Dôme is an art in itself, not given to every man to find his way to and master, so as to enjoy its virtues and endure its faults — glory to Him who created the world in different tastes! Gibran, for example, disdained to sit there, and how often he would say to me: "This is a waste of time, Youssef!" He preferred the manner of American soci-ety, and quiet talk "head to head"; and it pleased him to walk along the banks of the Seine or through the streets of old Paris — in this like his "friend" Balzac..

Nor was Gibran given to late nights, whether in the

night spots or elsewhere. He was of frail constitution, and preferred to go early to bed and give himself over to thinking... and writing.

And Miss Olga was like him. I tried once — a single time — to persuade her to come with me to the Café du Dôme by way of experiment; she was distressed, her breath came short in the noisy, smoke-laden atmosphere, and she did not repeat the experiment... She too had no fondness for sitting among the crowds...

As for us — our band made up of myself, Suzanne, Léa, Calmi, Dr. Caspar, the sculptor Cristesco and others — we had mastered the art of sitting at the "Dôme" and excelled at it. If one of us came early he reserved the table and paid a deposit, so that the rest, coming one after another, might be sure of finding places.. And I, after two hours' practice at drawing at the Académie "Colarossi," would look forward with longing to these delightful evenings..

The Académie "Colarossi" was run by an Italian lady named Caterina. In her youth she had worked as a "model," and when she was pensioned off — after having produced several "models" — the management of the academy was entrusted to her.

I remember how widely informed Madame Caterina was in everything connected with her profession; nor did any secret of what went on around her escape her, for the years had taught her the art of reading faces: from a mere look at the eyes and features of the students, men and women, she could divine all the intentions and thoughts that passed through their minds... and so she often anticipated events!!

The first time I heard her speak French with a peculiar accent, I did not doubt for a moment that she was Italian, and I addressed her in her own tongue... and so all formality fell away

At the Café du "Dôme"