'Well,' opined Claude at last, 'this isn't bad, by any means.'

It was four o'clock, and the day was waning amidst a glorious powdery
shimmer. To the right and left, towards the Madeleine and towards the
Corps Legislatif, lines of buildings stretched away, showing against
the sky, while in the Tuileries Gardens rose gradients of lofty
rounded chestnut trees. And between the verdant borders of the
pleasure walks, the avenue of the Champs Elysees sloped upward as far
as the eye could reach, topped by the colossal Arc de Triomphe, agape
in front of the infinite. A double current, a twofold stream rolled
along--horses showing like living eddies, vehicles like retreating
waves, which the reflections of a panel or the sudden sparkle of the
glass of a carriage lamp seemed to tip with white foam. Lower down,
the square--with its vast footways, its roads as broad as lakes--was
filled with a constant ebb and flow, crossed in every direction by
whirling wheels, and peopled with black specks of men, while the two
fountains plashed and streamed, exhaling delicious coolness amid all
the ardent life.

Claude, quivering with excitement, kept saying: 'Ah! Paris! It's ours.
We have only to take it.'

They all grew excited, their eyes opened wide with desire. Was it not
glory herself that swept from the summit of that avenue over the whole
capital? Paris was there, and they longed to make her theirs.

'Well, we'll take her one day,' said Sandoz, with his obstinate air.

'To be sure we shall,' said Mahoudeau and Jory in the simplest manner.