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Updated: April 30, 2025
Germain L'Auxerrois. And now we were skirting the Quai de l'École, looking down upon the bath known in those days as Molino's a hugh, floating quadrangular structure, surrounded by trellised arcades and rows of dressing-rooms, with a divan, a café restaurant, and a permanent corps of cooks and hair-dressers on the establishment.
And then, execrating Müller, and Molino, and Molino's bath, and Molino's customers, and all Molino's ancestors from the period of the deluge downwards, I reluctantly complied. The air was brisk, the sky cloudless, the sun coldly bright; and the city wore that strange, breathless, magical look so peculiar to Paris at early morning.
"Depends on whether it's pleasant to follow, caro mio" "Go home; get three or four hours' rest; and meet me in the Palais Royal about twelve for breakfast." "In order that you may turn round and go to sleep again in comfort? No, young man, I will do nothing of the kind. You shall get up, instead, and we'll go down to Molino's." "To Molino's?"
"Yes don't you know Molino's the large swimming-school by the Pont Neuf. It's a glorious morning for a plunge in the Seine." A plunge in the Seine! Now, given a warm bed, a chilly autumn morning, and a decided inclination to quote the words of the sluggard, and "slumber again," could any proposition be more inopportune, savage, and alarming? I shuddered; I protested; I resisted; but in vain.
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