Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 11, 2025
It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des Saints-Peres, in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, coupes were standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked together like persons who were accustomed to meet each other.
When he left the bridge of Saints-Peres for the Place du Carrousel this surveillance ceased, and he could then indulge freely in reflection at least as freely as his trouble and discouragement permitted. "The weak kill themselves; the strong fight to their last breath." And, low as he was, he was not yet at his last breath.
This is one of those houses to which I have before alluded as having, although nearly in the centre of the city, a delightful garden, and in the present instance quite a little aviary of canary and other birds, which is open to the street, situated No. 22, Rue des Saints-Pères, Faubourg St. Germain.
Situated in a narrow street in that short section of the Rue de Grenelle-St.-Germain which lies between the Rue des Saints-Pères and the Rue du Sépulcre, close by the cross-roads of the Croix-Rouge, where the troops could arrive from so many different points, the Mairie of the Tenth Arrondissement, confined, commanded, and blockaded on every side, was a pitiful citadel for the assailed National Representation.
Brocq jumped up. "Good-day, Captain!" "Good-day, Captain!" The man in charge at the cabstand, on the quay des Saints-Pères, at the corner of the bridge, saluted Brocq cordially. Brocq, ghastly pale, his face showing signs of intense anxiety, gasping for breath, asked: "Tell me! Just now, ten, five minutes ago did you not see a lady young she had red hair did she not pass this way? Come now!"
But a kind of shame, mingled with strange jealousy, prevented him from settling himself in his old spot under the Pont des Saints-Peres. It seemed to him as if that spot were sacred now; that he ought not to offer any outrage to his great work, dead as it was. So he stationed himself at the end of the bank, above the bridge.
Now that they belonged to one another, they no longer tasted the simple happiness born of feeling the warm pressure of their arms as they strolled on slowly, enveloped by the mighty vitality of Paris. On reaching the Pont des Saints-Peres, Claude, in sheer despair, stopped short. He had relinquished Christine's arm, and had turned his face towards the point of the Cite.
They both went down the quay, past the Tuileries, walking side by side in fraternal fashion. But at the Pont des Saints-Peres the painter stopped short. 'What, are you going to leave me? exclaimed Sandoz. 'Why, I thought you were going to dine with me? 'No, thanks; I've too bad a headache I'm going home to bed. And he obstinately clung to this excuse.
It is apparent nowadays that the anarchism of Reclus and Kropotkin is out of date, and entirely a thing of the past. The same tendencies will reappear under other forms, and present new aspects. Among anarchists, I have known Elysee Reclus, whom I met in the editorial offices of a publication called L'Humanite Nouvelle, which was issued in Paris in the Rue des Saints-Peres.
After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the bridge of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man who does not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning his arms on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its small waves fringed with white foam.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking