II


First and last I have lived much in the erstwhile gay capital of France. It
was gayest when the Duke de Morny flourished as King of the Bourse. He was
reputed the Emperor's natural half-brother. The breakdown of the Mexican
adventure, which was mostly his, contributed not a little to the final
Napoleonic fall. He died of dissipation and disappointment, and under the
pseudonym of the Duke de Morra, Daudet celebrated him in "The Nabob."

De Morny did not live to see the tumble of the house of cards he had built.
Next after I saw Paris it was a pitiful wreck indeed; the Hotel de Ville
and the Tuileries in flames; the Column gone from the Place Vendome; but
later the rise of the Third Republic saw the revival of the unquenchable
spirit of the irrepressible French.

Nevertheless I should scarcely be taken for a Parisian. Once, when
wandering aimlessly, as one so often does through the Paris streets, one of
the touts hanging round the Cafe de la Paix to catch the unwary stranger
being a little more importunate than usual, I ordered him to go about his
business.

"This is my business," he impudently answered.

"Get away, I tell you!" I thundered, "I am a Parisian myself!"

He drew a little out of reach of the umbrella I held in my hand, and with
a drawl of supreme and very American contempt, exclaimed, "Well, you don't
look it," and scampered off.