given; you pay nothing for admission, but are expected to call for some
refreshment. It is splendidly illuminated, and is the Café _par
excellence_, frequented by those ladies who have made the opposite choice
to that of Hercules, and who, taking into consideration the shortness and
uncertainty of life, dedicate it entirely to pleasure, reflecting that

Laggiù nell' Inferno,
Nell' obblio sempiterno,
In sempiterno orrore,
Non si parla d'amore.

Of course, this saloon is crowded with amateurs, and the Prussians and
English are not the least ardent votaries of the Goddess of Paphos; many a
vanquished victor sinks oppressed with wine and love on the breast of a
Dalilah: this last comparison suggests itself to me from the immense
quantity of hair worn by the Prussians, as if their strength, like that of
Samson's, depended on their _chevelure_. There is a very pretty graceful
girl who attends here and at the different restaurants and cafés with an
assortment of bijouterie and other knick-knacks to sell. She is full of wit
and repartee; but her answer to all those who attempt to squeeze her hand
and make love to her is always: "_Achetez quelque chose._" Her name is
Céline and she has a great flow of conversation on all subjects but that of
love, which she invariably cuts short by "_Achetez quelque chose._"



10th August.

I have been to see the Museum of sculpture and painting in the Louvre, but
what is to be seen there baffles all description: