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Adelle then had one of the purest joys of her existence in watching the gusto with which the young Californian dispatched his tea and cakes even to the last crumbs of the brioche. She wanted to ask him to dine with her somewhere, but did not dare.
Once we were so reduced that at noon I was left to a lonely brioche at the Salon, and the men went to breakfast at the nearest cabman's eating-house, where they made the sensation of their lives, without meaning to and without finding in it any special compensation.
Then from the far corner of the room came a pleasant voice. "I think brioche is the word you want." It was. I recollected it directly I heard it. I turned to thank our interpreter. She was a young woman in the uniform of a V.A.D. She was sitting at a table by herself, was, in fact, the only other occupant of the room. I thanked her. Thompson joined in and thanked her effusively.
It was in the Place de la Bourse, on a beautiful sunshiny morning. The coffee was nectar, the flute was ambrosia, the brioche was more than good enough for the Olympians. Such an experience could not repeat itself fifty years later. The first restaurant at which we dined was in the Palais Royal. The place was hot enough to cook an egg.
With our desert we had a species of cake called brioche, composed of egg, flour, and water; it is in high estimation in France. It was in this town only that I saw a specimen of that forlorn wretchedness and importunity, which have been said to constitute the general nuisance of this country.
In the morning they take a cup of coffee, generally without milk, sopping in it some light brioche. Later in the day they take a slight lunch of soup and macaroni, with a glass of wine.
One of my friends had had twenty large brioche cakes made for me, and I had ordered some large bowls of punch, the coloured flames from which amused the grown-up sick children immensely. The young priest from St. Sulpice accepted a piece of brioche, and after taking a little white wine left us. Ah, how charming and good he was, that poor young priest!
All at once, he caught sight of the two little ragged boys behind the green swan-hutch. "There is the beginning," said he. And, after a pause, he added: "Anarchy is entering this garden." In the meanwhile, his son took a bite of his brioche, spit it out, and, suddenly burst out crying. "What are you crying about?" demanded his father. "I am not hungry any more," said the child.
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