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Updated: May 3, 2025
As I was impatient to see what kind of a reception I should get from the liberal-minded lover of my fair M M , I went to the Pont-Royal, took a hackney coach, and went to Versailles. Again bad luck! Our coaches crossed each other on the way, and my humble equipage had not caught his excellency's eye.
I congratulated myself on the lucky chance which threw her in my way, and accosted her, and had not much trouble in inducing her to dine with me at Choisi. We walked towards the Pont-Royal, where we took a coach.
A gentleman, who had just returned from Paris, talked of the reflection of the lamps in the Seine, which one sees in crossing the Pont-Royal, and which, as he said, appear like a colonnade of fire. As soon as he had finished prosing about his colonnade, I turned to Mr.
In a weak sing-song voice she told the tale to the three young women, standing in front of her, how she had seen the Hôtel de Ville, the Tuileries and the Samaritaine, and how, when she was crossing the Pont-Royal, a barge loaded with apples for the Marché du Mail had broken up, the apples had floated down the current and the river was all red with the rosy-cheeked fruit.
His splendid Paris Mansion he expressly left "to serve in perpetuity as a residence for the Secretary of State in the Department of War:" a magnificent Town-House it is, "HOTEL MAGNIFIQUE, at the end of the Pont-Royal," which, I notice farther, is in our time called "Hotel de CHOISEUL-PRASLIN," a house latterly become horrible in men's memory, if my guess is right.
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