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Then, with a dash of Rose Ambrée for my companion's blouse and Nuits d'Orient for mine, we sallied forth scented like a harem, to do honour to our hosts. Luncheon was in a vast cavern of a vaulted banqueting-hall, in the deepest heart of that citadel, where for eleven years Napoleon kept his weary English prisoners.
They arrived at Marseilles on October 29th, and stayed for two nights at the Hotel d'Orient, where Balzac's friend Mery had secured rooms for them. They then went by sea to Naples, and there Balzac worked so hard at sight-seeing, saw so much, and talked so volubly, that he was quite exhausted.
"Well," said his mother, "would you mind very much if we drove to the d'Orient now and called on the Burtons?" Fitz said that he would mind very much, but as he made no more reasonable objection Mrs.
In the old days there was a little hotel on the Rue Dannou, midway between the Rue de la Paix and what later along became the Avenue de l'Opéra, called the Hôtel d'Orient.
All French writers and travellers speak of this protection with delightful complacency. Consult the French books of travel on the subject, and any Frenchman whom you may meet: he says, "La France, Monsieur, de tous les temps protege les Chretiens d'Orient;" and the little fellow looks round the church with a sweep of the arm, and protects it accordingly.
I was somewhat interested in his cool but pleasant manner. I got back into my chaise, and the next night reached Amsterdam. I put up at the excellent inn "L'Etoile d'Orient," and in the morning I went on 'Change and found M. Pels. He told me he would think my business over, and finding M, d'O directly afterwards he offered to do me my sixty bills and give me twelve per cent.
Before I give an account of Mac's adventure and my own for the next three days I will here give George's narrative in his own language, as related to us when we all met again in London: After saying good-bye to you I arrived in Paris in due time, and sauntered about for two hours until the train left for Bordeaux, where I arrived at 8 o'clock Monday morning, and went at once to the Hotel d'Orient, and after a bath and breakfast repaired to the bankers.
I was lunching with an old Parisian friend. "What do you think of this vintage?" says he. "Very good," I answered. "Come and dine with me to-morrow and I will give you the mate to it." "What at the d'Orient?" "Yes, at the d'Orient." "Preposterous!" Nevertheless, he came. When the wine was poured out he took a sip. "By !" he exclaimed. "That is good, isn't it? I wonder where they got it? And how?"
The d'Orient was delightfully comfortable and fabulously cheap. The wayfarer entered a darksome passage that led to an inner court. There were on the four sides of this seven or eight stories pierced by many windows. There was never a lift, or what we Americans call an elevator. If you wanted to go up you walked up; and after dark your single illuminant was candlelight.
In the olden time, between the Palais de la Cité and the Louvre and the Palais des Tournelles, extending even to the walls of Charenton, was a gigantic garden, a carpet embroidered with as varied a colouring as the tapis d'orient of the poets, and cut here and there by alleys which separated it into little checker-board squares.
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