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Updated: May 13, 2025
With the many details of the evening that Paul spent, I will not weary you, dear reader. Wandering about the boulevards he went, like one walking in a dream, at times stopping to rest at some quiet table apart from the throng of merry-makers, entirely disregardful of the laughing faces, the friendly glances that now and then searched him out. Like a canker worm misery gnawed at his heart.
Florence loses itself to-day in dusty boulevards and smart <i>beaux quartiers</i>, such as Napoleon III and Baron Haussmann were to set the fashion of to a too mediaeval Europe with the effect of some precious page of antique text swallowed up in a marginal commentary that smacks of the style of the newspaper.
I happened to remember that it was carnival time in Paris I seemed to see the carriages filled with masks crossing the boulevards. I heard the shouts of the crowds before the theatres; I saw the lascivious dances, the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all my youth bounded in my heart. "Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for our own amusement, but what does that matter?
"Two women at once?" "Yes." "What was the trick?" The two young men were sitting outside a café on the Boulevards, and drinking liquors mixed with water, those aperients which look like infusions of all the shades in a box of water-colors. They were nearly the same age, twenty-five to thirty.
Loubet appeared in turn, advancing with a flourish and holding aloft in either hand a full bottle, which he waved above his head triumphantly. He was not so far gone as his companion; with his Parisian blague, imitating the nasal drawl of the coco-venders of the boulevards on a public holiday, he cried: "Here you are, nice and cool, nice and cool! Who'll have a drink?"
At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated that is to say, Morrel went to the Boulevards, Chateau-Renaud to the Pont de la Revolution, and Debray to the Quai.
Miss Guggenslocker or whatever her name might be and her carriage companion were as exquisitely gowned as any women to be seen on the boulevards or in Hyde Park of an afternoon. It was late in the afternoon when they returned to the hotel. After dinner, during which they were again objects of interest, they strolled off towards the castle, smoking their cigars and enjoying the glorious air.
The fallen star moistened her painted lips. "Yes, why not?" Born in California, of foreign parents, she had neither morals or accent and spoke in a deep voice. She spoke American and English. She spoke the easy French of the boulevards, the easier Italian of the operatic stage. She never spoke of Tamburini. She left him to be imagined, which perhaps he had been.
The Column Vendôme is to be rebuilt. With an English friend I this morning made my way along the line of Boulevards running east of the Madeleine.
A mot of the Boulevards wittily sums up the results of their puny efforts: "They came to France to give her a king, and they gave her an Emperor."
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