"Why—why, that is Monsieur de Barsac, who came over on our ship!" said Alida, plucking me by the sleeve. "Don't you remember how nice he was when we were so—so sea—miserable? You really ought to bow to him, papa. If you don't, I will."
I looked at the dragoon and caught his eye—such a bright, intelligent, mischievous eye!—and I could not avoid bowing.
Up he came, sword clanking, white-gloved hand glued to the polished visor of his crimson cap, and—the girls were delighted.
Now what do you suppose that Frenchman did? He gave up his entire day to showing us the beauties of the Rive Gauche.
Under his generous guidance my daughters saw what few tourists see intelligently—the New Sorbonne, with its magnificent mural decorations by Puvis de Chavannes; we saw the great white-domed Observatory, piled up in the sky like an Eastern temple, and the beautiful old palace of the Luxembourg. Also, we beheld the Republican Guards, à cheval, marching out of their barracks on the Rue de Tournon; and a splendid glittering company of cavalry they were, with their silver helmets, orange-red facings, white gauntlets, and high, polished boots—the picked men of all the French forces, as far as physique is concerned.
In the late afternoon haze the dome of the Pantheon, towering over the Latin Quarter, turned to purest cobalt in the sky. Under its majestic shadow the Boulevard St. Michel ran all green and gold with gas-jets already lighted in lamps and restaurants and the scores of students' cafés which line the main artery of the "Quartier Latin."
"I wish," said Alida, "that it were perfectly proper for us to walk along those terraces."
Captain de Barsac appeared extremely doubtful, but entirely at our disposal.
"You know what our students are, monsieur," he said, twisting his short blond moustache; "however—if monsieur wishes——?"
So, with my daughters in the centre, and Captain de Barsac and myself thrown out in strong flanking parties, we began our march.