(In all French parties, immediately
after dinner, the men all congregate together to talk to each
other,--never to the women,--so unless you happen to find yourself
seated next to some well-known man, you never really have a chance of
talking to him.) Gambetta didn't go out much, and as by some curious
chance he was never next to me at dinner, I never had any opportunity of
talking to him. He was not one of W.'s friends, nor an habitue of the
house. His appearance was against him--dark, heavy-looking, with an
enormous head.
When I had had enough of the speeches and the bad atmosphere, I used to
wander about the terraces and gardens. How many beautiful sunsets I have
seen from the top of the terrace or else standing on the three famous
pink marble steps (so well known to all lovers of poetry through Alfred
de Musset's beautiful verses, "Trois Marches Roses"), seeing in
imagination all the brilliant crowd of courtiers and fair women that
used to people those wonderful gardens in the old days of Versailles! I
went sometimes to the "Reservoirs" for a cup of tea, and very often
found other women who had also driven out to get their husbands.
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