ts Avenues, with throbbing delight and love towards every face, that
first memorable day. This river is the _Seine_! that Palace so proud and
rich, the world-renowned _Louvre_. What is yon great carved front with
twin towers--that pile with the light of morning melting its spires and
roofs and flying buttresses as they rise into it--that world of
clustered mediaeval saints in stone, beautiful, pointed-arched portals
and unapproached and unapproachable dignity--from which the edifices of
the City seem to stand afar off and leave it alone, and which wears not
the air of to-day or yesterday?--_Notre Dame de Paris_, O vast monument
of French art, recorder of chivalric ages, all the generations have had
recourse to thine aisles and the heart of Paris beats within thee as the
hearts of Quinet and this d'Argentenaye beat under the ribs of their
human breasts.

Paris knew and loved us. The fountains and great trees of the Tuilleries
Gardens were palatial for us; the Champs Elysees laughed to us as we
moved through their groves; the Arch de l'Etoile had a voice to us
grandly of the victories of our race; the Bois de Boulogne was gay with
happy groups and glistening equipages.

How well they do everything in Paris! When shall the streets of Montreal
be so smooth, the houses so artistically built, when shall living be
reduced to such system of neatness and saving?

Quinet betook himself much to the obscure cheese shops and cafes in the
quarters of the people, and ate and chatted with such villains that I
called him "The Communard." He, on the other hand, called me "Le Grand
Marquis," because I made use of some relatives who were among the
nobility.

Between us we missed little. On the one hand the heart of the masses
affected us. Once we bought bread of a struggling baker hard by the
famous abbey of St. Denis. We asked for a cup of water to drink with
it,--"But Messieurs will not drink water!" he cried, and rushed in his
generosity for his poor bottle of wine.--My French-Canadian countrymen,
that was a trait of yours!

I remember too,--when my shoe hurt me and I limped badly one evening
along the Avenue of the Bois,--the numbers of men and women who said to
one another: "O, le pauvre jeune homme." Ye world-wide Pharisees, erring
Paris cannot be so deeply wicked while its heart flows so much goodness!

But the enthusiasms will run away with my story. Resolutely, _revenons_.

While Quinet, the positive pole of our expedition,