Par.

 1 1 |        finished dinner, five men of the world, mature, rich,
 2 1 |       this every month in memory of their youth, and after dinner
 3 1 |         the pleasantest evenings of their lives. They talked
 4 1 |        every subject, especially of what interested and amused
 5 1 |          was, as in the majority of salons elsewhere, a verbal
 6 1 |       elsewhere, a verbal rehash of what they had read in the
 7 2 |                              One of the most lively of them
 8 2 |           One of the most lively of them was Joseph de Bardon,
 9 2 |        was scarcely forty. A man of the world in its widest
10 4 |          torpid in an atmosphere of tobacco blended with steaming
11 8 |                Toward the middle of September -- it was beautiful
12 8 |       according to the influence of the day. But when the sun
13 10|                   I am very fond of cemeteries. They rest me
14 10|         me and give me a feeling of sadness; I need it. And,
15 11|           It is in this cemetery of Montmartre that is buried
16 11|         that is buried a romance of my life, a sweetheart who
17 11|          with regrets -- regrets of all kinds. And I go to dream
18 12|          this small space, think of all the generations of Parisians
19 12|     think of all the generations of Parisians who are housed
20 13|          as in museums. The tomb of Cavaignac reminded me, I
21 13|   without making any comparison, of the chef d'oeuvre of Jean
22 13| comparison, of the chef d'oeuvre of Jean Goujon: the recumbent
23 13|     Goujon: the recumbent statue of Louis de Breze in the subterranean
24 13|          the subterranean chapel of the Cathedral of Rouen.
25 13|          chapel of the Cathedral of Rouen. All modern and realistic
26 14|     monument, which has a degree of grandeur; that of Gautier,
27 14|         degree of grandeur; that of Gautier, of Murger, on which
28 14|       grandeur; that of Gautier, of Murger, on which I saw the
29 14|          a simple, paltry wreath of immortelles, yellow immortelles,
30 14|        by dirt and neglect. Sing of youth, O Murger!~
31 15|          is not all pain, a kind of sadness that makes you think
32 16|                      The feeling of autumn, of the warm moisture
33 16|           The feeling of autumn, of the warm moisture which
34 16|       moisture which is redolent of the death of the leaves,
35 16|         is redolent of the death of the leaves, and the weakened,
36 16|          poetical, the sensation of solitude and of finality
37 16|        sensation of solitude and of finality that hovered over
38 16|      over this spot which savors of human mortality.~
39 17|        slowly amid these streets of tombs, where the neighbors
40 17|       much superior to the books of Paul de Kock for getting
41 17|          de Kock for getting rid of the spleen are these marble
42 17|      crosses where the relatives of the deceased have unburdened
43 17|        desires for the happiness of the vanished ones and their
44 17|     vanished ones and their hope of rejoining them -- humbugs!~
45 18|          portion, solitary, full of great yews and cypresses,
46 18|        rows beneath little slabs of marble those who have died
47 19|       would soon have had enough of it and that I must place
48 19|        place the faithful homage of my remembrance on my little
49 19|       place. I felt a tightening of the heart as I reached her
50 20|         iron grating, I told her of my sorrow in a low tone,
51 20|          bands looking like rays of dawn beneath her sombre
52 21|           telling the sad rosary of her remembrances within
53 21|   remembrances within the shadow of her concealed and closed
54 21|          at once a little motion of her back, like a flutter
55 21|         her back, like a flutter of wind through a willow, led
56 21|       louder, with quick motions of her neck and shoulders.
57 21|         her eyes. They were full of tears and charming, the
58 21|     tears and charming, the eyes of a bewildered woman, with
59 21|        covered the white corners of the beloved tomb, like a
60 21|         tomb, like a fresh token of mourning. I heard her sigh,
61 22|   Louis-Theodore Carrel, Captain of Marine Infantry, killed
62 36|      carried her along the paths of the cemetery. When we got
63 40|      perceived a restaurant, one of those places where the mourners
64 40|        places where the mourners of the dead go to celebrate
65 40|           I made her drink a cup of hot tea, which seemed to
66 50|        thus outraging the memory of the captain killed in Tonquin,
67 59|       She yielded, saying by way of apology to herself: 'I am
68 62|        weeks. But one gets tired of everything, especially of
69 62|        of everything, especially of women. I left her under
70 62|         I left her under pretext of an imperative journey. She
71 63|     forget her. The recollection of her haunted me like a mystery,
72 63|       psychological problem, one of those inexplicable questions
73 65|       with their dead. The grave of the captain killed at Tonquin
74 66|    wandered in another direction of this great city of the dead
75 66|     direction of this great city of the dead I perceived suddenly,
76 66|   perceived suddenly, at the end of a narrow avenue of crosses,
77 66|       the end of a narrow avenue of crosses, a couple in deep
78 68|      distingue, chic, an officer of the Legion of Honor, about
79 68|         an officer of the Legion of Honor, about fifty years
80 69|          all meant, to what race of beings belonged this huntress
81 69|    beings belonged this huntress of the tombs? Was she just
82 69|      haunted by the recollection of some woman, a wife or a
83 69|     still troubled by the memory of vanished caresses? Was she
84 69|    profoundly philosophical idea of exploiting love recollections,