With the contrariety of human nature, some people would say of feminine
nature, now that I felt I was not going to live much longer on the rive
gauche I was getting quite fond of it. Life was so quiet and restful in
those long, narrow streets, some even with grass growing on the
pavement--no trams, no omnibuses, very little passing, glimpses
occasionally of big houses standing well back from the street, a
good-sized courtyard in front and garden at the back--the classic
Faubourg St. Germain hotel entre cour et jardin. I went to tea sometimes
with a friend who lived in a big, old-fashioned house in the rue de
Varenne. She lived on the fourth floor--one went up a broad, bare, cold
stone staircase (which always reminded me of some of the staircases in
the Roman palaces). Her rooms were large, very high ceilings, very
little furniture in them, very little fire in winter, fine old family
portraits on the walls, but from the windows one looked down on a lovely
garden where the sun shone and the birds sang all day. It was just like
being in the country, so extraordinarily quiet. A very respectable man
servant in an old-fashioned brown livery, with a great many brass
buttons, who looked as old as the house itself and as if he were part of
it, always opened the door.
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