CHAPTER VI.
"I believe," said Lemercier, as the _coupe_ rolled through the lively
alleys of the Bois de Boulogne, "that Paris is built on a loadstone, and
that every Frenchman with some iron globules in his blood is irresistibly
attracted towards it. The English never seem to feel for London the
passionate devotion that we feel for Paris. On the contrary, the London
middle class, the commercialists, the shopkeepers, the clerks, even the
superior artisans compelled to do their business in the capital, seem
always scheming and pining to have their home out of it, though but in a
suburb."
"You have been in London, Frederic?"
"Of course; it is the mode to visit that dull and hideous metropolis."
"If it be dull and hideous, no wonder the people who are compelled to do
business in it seek the pleasures of home out of it."
"It is very droll that though the middle class entirely govern the
melancholy Albion, it is the only country in Europe in which the middle
class seem to have no amusements; nay, they legislate against amusement.
They have no leisure-day but Sunday; and on that day they close all their
theatres, even their museums and picture-galleries. What amusements
there may be in England are for the higher classes and the lowest."
"What are the amusements of the lowest class?"
"Getting drunk."
"Nothing else?"
"Yes. I was taken at night under protection of a policeman to some
cabarets, where I found crowds of that class which is the stratum below
the working class; lads who sweep crossings and hold horses, mendicants,
and, I was told, thieves, girls whom a servant-maid would not speak to,
very merry, dancing quadrilles and waltzes, and regaling themselves on
sausages,--the happiest-looking folks I found in all London; and, I must
say, conducting themselves very decently."
"Ah!" Here Lemercier pulled the check-string. "Will you object to a walk
in this quiet alley? I see some one whom I have promised the Englishman
to--But heed me, Alain, don't fall in love with her."
