On me pousse, heurte, refoule, Le dos voûté, les bras ballants. Je suis accablé de silence, De ce silence intérieur, Tel un brouillard subtil et dense, Qui tombe à plis lourds sur le cour, Je suis accablé de silence. Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux, Quand viendra la chère attendue Qu'espère mon cour amoureux, Qu'implore mon âme éperdue, Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux! Achille Segard. Here is a particularly charming little poem, written in the musical French of two or three centuries ago: UN BAYSER Sur vostre lèvre fraîche et rose, Ma mye, ah! laissiez-moi poser Cette tant bonne et doulce chose, Un bayser. Telle une fleur au jour éclose, le vois vostre teint se roser; Si ie vous redonnois,--ie n'ose, Un bayser. Laissiez-moi vous prendre, inhumaine, A chascun iour de la sepmaine Un bayser. Trop tôt viendront vieil aage et peine! Lors n'aurez plus, l'eussiez-vous reine, Un bayser. Maistre Guillaume. The modern gas illumination of the _café_, in contrast to the fashion of brilliant lighting that prevails in the showy _café_s of the boulevards, must nevertheless be a great advance on the ancient way that it had of being lighted with crude oil lamps and candelabra. But the dim illumination is in perfect keeping with the other appointments of the place, which are dark, sombre, and funereal. The interior of the Procope is as dark as a finely colored old meerschaum pipe. The woodwork, the chairs, and the tables are deeply stained by time, the contrasting white marble tops of the tables suggesting gravestones; and with all these go the deeply discolored walls and the many ancient paintings,--even the caisse, behind which sits Madame Théo, dozing over her knitting. This caisse is a wonderful piece of furniture in itself, of some rich dark wood, beautifully carved and decorated.