garden!

A swarm of children was racing and screaming through the short avenues
around the monument. On entering the place, the first thing that Julio
encountered was a hoop which came rolling toward his legs, trundled by
a childish hand. Then he stumbled over a ball. Around the chestnut
trees was gathering the usual warm-weather crowd, seeking the blue shade
perforated with points of light. Many nurse-maids from the neighboring
houses were working and chattering here, following with indifferent
glances the rough games of the children confided to their care. Near
them were the men who had brought their papers down into the garden
under the impression that they could read them in the midst of peaceful
groves. All of the benches were full. A few women were occupying camp
stools with that feeling of superiority which ownership always confers.
The iron chairs, "pay-seats," were serving as resting places for
various suburban dames, loaded down with packages, who were waiting for
straggling members of their families in order to take the train in the
Gare Saint Lazare. . . .

And Julio, in his special delivery letter, had proposed meeting in this
place, supposing that it would be as little frequented as in former
times. She, too, with the same thoughtlessness, had in her reply, set
the usual hour of five o'clock, believing that after passing a few
minutes in the Printemps or the Galeries on the pretext of shopping, she
would be able to slip over to the unfrequented garden without risk of
being seen by any of her numerous acquaintances.

Desnoyers was enjoying an almost forgotten sensation, that of strolling
through vast spaces, crushing as he walked the grains of sand under
his feet. For the past twenty days his rovings had been upon planks,