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Updated: June 22, 2025
Moffatt had run down to Deauville to look at a house they thought of hiring for the summer; they were taking an early train back, and would be at home for dinner were in fact having a lot of people to dine. It was just what he ought to have expected, and had been used to ever since he could remember; and generally he didn't much mind, especially since his mother had become Mrs.
Deauville plage, where people bathed in companionable parties and strolled in and out of the water as seemed good to them, was something altogether outside Dan's ken. "Oh, I'm sorry," he began, flushing uncomfortably. Magda waved to him airily. "You needn't be. I'm having a sun-bath. You can stay and talk to me if you like. Or are you too busy farming this morning?"
He said that just fifty years ago he went to Deauville with the Duc de Morny, Princesse Metternich, and the Comtesse de Pourteles to inaugurate the new watering-place, then of the simplest description. The ladies were badly lodged in a so-called hotel and he had a room in a fisherman's hut.
"Ariadne always had a rare eye for a cushion." "Ariadne is a perfect wife." "Margaret, it is absolutely essential that I should see you once every twenty-four hours for the rest of my life. You will, therefore, not think me too matter-of-fact if I ask you your immediate plans?" "I am staying here three more days." "Damn sixteen hours gone already, I am off to Deauville."
The Fluffies have returned from Deauville, and Coralie and Alice joined us at luncheon. They have the most exquisite new garments, and were full of sparkle and gaiety. Alice's wedding, to the rich neutral, seems really to be coming off.
There were two English yachts lying at Deauville. On board of one of these Dr. Evans went. It belonged to Sir John Burgoyne, grandson of the General Burgoyne who surrendered at Saratoga. Sir John, with his wife, was on a pleasure cruise. His yacht, the "Gazelle," was very small, only forty-five tons' burden, and carried a crew of six men.
Then she cited examples: one off to the Vosges, another at Arcachon, yet another at Deauville. And she reminded him, too, that a certain old lady, one of his old friends of the Faubourg St. Germain, lived only a few miles out of Bourges, and had invited him to come and see her, she didn't know how many times, and that he had promised and promised and never kept his word.
At the edge of the road, mingling with the brambles, grew holly bushes, and here and there stood large dead trees whose branches traced zigzags upon the blue sky. Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with Deauville on their left, and Havre on their right.
Then she cited examples: one off to the Vosges, another at Arcachon, yet another at Deauville. And she reminded him, too, that a certain old lady, one of his old friends of the Faubourg St. Germain, lived only a few miles out of Bourges, and had invited him to come and see her, she didn't know how many times, and that he had promised and promised and never kept his word.
That Paris which emigrates by turns, according to the season, to Monte Carlo for the 'Tir aux Pigeons', to Deauville for the race week, to Aix- les-Bains for the baccarat season; that Paris which has its own customs, its own language, its own history, even its own cosmopolitanism, for it exercises over certain minds, throughout Europe, so despotic a rule that Cibo, for example, and his friend Pietrapertoso never opened a French journal that was not Parisian.
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