He does not frequent it every day: it is a scene for
special visits--more expensive than the immediate quarter where he
eats, drinks and sleeps, and more attractive. There is a cafe on the
southern side of the esplanade, where, if you go on a Saturday night,
you may see a curious sight. It is after midnight that the place is
thronged. Descending a broad flight of steps, you turn to the right
and go down another flight, entering an immense underground hall,
broken up with sturdy square pillars, and brilliant with mirrors which
line walls and pillars in every direction. Here are gathered a great
number of men and women, sitting at the tables, drinking beer and
wine, playing cards, dominoes and backgammon, and filling the air with
the incessant din of conversation and the smoke of pipes and cigars.
The women are generally bareheaded or in muslin caps. The men are
almost without exception in blouses--some white, some black, some in
the newest stages of shiny blue gingham, some faded with long wearing
and frequent washing. Caps and soft hats are universal: a tall hat is
nowhere to be seen--a fact which is much more significant in Paris
than it would be in America, for in Paris the tall hat is almost _de
rigueur_ among the better classes.
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