I felt out of tune with the universe.
The rain irritated me.
To cheer my drooping spirits I took refuge in the Louvre.
There I found no solace in the cold white statues of the lower floor. I ascended one of the broad staircases—the headless beauty of the Victoire de Samothrace only made me shudder.
I passed through the halls lined on either side with the masterpieces of French and Italian and Spanish Artists.
One in my depressed state of mind had no right to be there where faces of Madonnas smile down as one passes and deserve a freer look than mine to turn on them.
I wandered out again into the street.
I walked up the quai which winds along the river and where the quaint well-known bookshelves are built displaying to the passerby rare old books and piles of rubbish alike.
Despite the rain several students were eagerly looking through these stores of hidden wealth.
As the Parisian would say ils bouquinaient.