An excerpt from Robert Redd’s journal, during his tour of Europe in 1896: “It’s been said so often as to become banal, but there really is nothing quite like Paris in the springtime. Clouds against blue overhead, the Jardin des Tuileries all around, and the ruins of the royal palace on the horizon. I watched Madeline—excuse me, Margarette—walk the eight-sided perimeter of the reflecting pool, in which I swear you could see the image of the clouds more sharply than they appear in the firmament itself.
“But what a difference the daylight makes! Last night’s misadventure in the Moulin Rouge is but a memory, yet the gaudy lights of the cabaret still dance across my mind’s eye. And the taste of tangerine, offered to me by Margarette—or was it Melanie?—lingers still on the tip of my tongue.”