In The Days When The Bourbon Reigned over Gaul, Before The "Simple,
Sensuous, Passionate" Verse Of Alfred de Musset Had Succeeded the
_Débonnaire_ Muse Of Béranger In the Affections Of Young France,--In Days
When The Site Of The Trocadero Was A Remote And Undiscovered country, And
The Word "Exposition" Unknown In the Academic Dictionary, And The Gallic
Augustus Destined to Rebuild The City Yet An Exile,--A Young Law-Student
Boarded, In common With Other Students, In a Big Dreary-Looking house At
The Corner Of The Rue Grande-Mademoiselle, Abutting on The Place Lauzun,
And Within Some Ten Minutes Walk Of The Luxembourg. It Was A Very Dingy
Quarter, Though Noble Gentlemen And Lovely Ladies Had Once Occupied the
Great Ghastly Mansions, And Disported themselves In the Gruesome Gardens.
