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Updated: June 21, 2025
There is an "Inspecteur de la Plage," a regular French official with a gold band on his cap, who is a most important and amiable gentleman and sees that no one is annoyed in any way.
We had sandwiches down there between 12 and 1, and got back at 4.30, feeling very hot after the march. Then tea.... "Hamer, Bridgestock, and Allin have gone up the line this morning. I shall not be going up the line for a few days, but by the time your reply to this reaches me I shall be there...." My diary of that same day, May 28, records: "To Paris Plage in the evening."
But, if there was one drawback, she had discovered, to a morning on the Roville plage, it was that you had a tendency to fall asleep: and this is a degrading thing to do so soon after breakfast, even if you are on a holiday.
"I was sure you would meet me," said Marigny, smiling nonchalantly as he lighted the cigarette again. "I have arranged everything, even the attendance of witnesses and a doctor. We cross over to Calais by the night boat from Dover, pick up the others at the Hôtel de la Plage, at which they will arrive to-night, and drive straight to the terrain. There is no prospect of outside interference.
But a year ago, should I have dreamed it possible for me to strut about a fashionable plage in white ducks, a pink shirt, and a yachting-cap? I trow not. They are signs of some sort of madness whether that of a Jaques or a dingo dog matters very little. Pasquale was the main cause of my taking Carlotta away from London.
Stabat Mater Dolorosa. It was the Duchess of X.'s Hospital at a certain plage on the coast. I had motored thither through undulating country dotted with round beehive ricks and past meadows on which a flock of gulls, looking in the distance like a bed of white crocuses, were settled in platoons.
At seven o'clock my cabin-steward announced the arrival of the automobile, and after a swift run along the plage and up the winding roads on the hillsides of Cap Martin I found myself at the door of Mr. Pulitzer's villa. I was received by the major-domo, ushered into the drawing-room, and informed that Mr. Pulitzer would be down in a few minutes. Before I had time to examine my surroundings Mr.
"La Plage" is in the Gallery of the Luxembourg, "Les Loups de Mer" in the Museum of Ghent, "Jeanne d'Arc at Domrémy" in a gallery at Lille; other pictures are in New York, Minneapolis, and other American cities; also in Berlin and Alexandria, Egypt. At the Salon des Artistes Français, in 1902, Mme. Demont-Breton exhibited a picture of "Les Meduses bleues."
Nor was he given much time for speculation. A carriage awaited the trio at the quay. They carried no luggage to entail a delay at the Customs, and they drove off at a rapid pace through silent streets in a drenched downpour of rain. When they reached the Hôtel de la Plage, neither Medenham nor the Frenchman alighted, but the former handed Dale a letter.
Personally he was more occupied with the departed glories of Paris Plage than with a mere skin of roses and milk; at least the worthy man may have deemed it desirable to appear so. "Pauvre petite," went on the kindly matron, "but she looks tired . . . so tired." She heaved a deep sigh. "Mais que voulez-vous? c'est la guerre."
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