he in a strong whiff of sewage.
Have you been mistaken? Surely you are dreaming. The Casino dances on
the water. A bevy of girls come out of the Hotel Ruhl to join the
Lenten noon-day throng. Nothing disagreeable like sewage--but there it
is again! Whew! Where can that sewer empty? Fault of French
engineering, an American would say.

But the sea has brought me that smell on the boardwalk in front of the
Traymore at Atlantic City. It is difficult to get ahead of nature, and
the undertow does bring back what you thought you were rid of.

Figuratively speaking, the surprise on the Promenade des Anglais meets
you every day in your study of Nice. The city charms: and it repels.
You have been drinking in its beauty and its fascination. Suddenly
something sordid, ugly, disgusting, breaks the spell. On the Promenade
des Anglais sewage greets the eye as well as the nose. Not vicious
women and poor little dolls alone, but cruel and weak faces, shifty and
vapid faces, self-centered and morose faces, leech faces, pig faces, of
well-tailored men--you watch them pass, you remember what you have seen
at the tables, in near-by Monte Carlo, and the utter depravity of your
race frightens you. Except clothes and jewels and the ability to get a
check cashed, what is the difference between these people and the
sailors from a hundred ships, making merry with their girls in the
narrow streets back from the Vieux Port of Marseilles?

The law of compensation often comforts and cheers. But as often it is
remorseless. Broken health and empty purses, desperation, mute
suffering and madness, we saw at Monte Carlo. Where the world flocks
for pleasure, agony of soul reveals itself more readily than elsewhere
because of its incongruity. Nice is full of tragedy, and none takes
the pains to conceal it as at Monte Carlo. The casual visitor creates
his own atmosphere in Nice, and he goes away with the most pleasant
memory, having found what he sought. But you cannot stroll day after
day on the Promenade without marking many that do not smile. You watch
them and you see unhappiness, unrest, despair, and resignation. It you
become acquainted with the life and gossip of the various colonies, you
will not need a Victor Marguerite to reveal to you the inner life of
the world's "playground." More frequently than not it is a case of on
with the dance. What a price people do pay to play!

Just one illustration. The Russians used to be a