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. and she left …. It was the ring of the lady of her thoughts ….
Some would arrive half mad, because a spiritualist told him who he was, why he was going to California and that probably the absent daughter would have married a perdularian.
Some novelists exalted everything they saw to the heavens, painting our Mexican women, little ones, prudish and shrunken, ceremonious, full of vanity and jealousy.
While others were at odds with the foreigners for their abruptness, they criticized their mercantile spirit, their flexibility of character with the first passer-by, and their vagrant and masculine air, and we did not get anything out of it, and it was all to speak, and all and none of us were right.
Melancholic, though very fine, the first: reserved, but full of nobility, the second; and Manuel, condescending and delicate.
as with a flashlight, for that illness of which I have already informed my readers. Because eternally I lost myself when leaving the house, when turning a corner, when saying hello.
Two were parked in a magnificent inn on Sutter Street, and another came looking for me; After a while, he came back to me, badly injured, dazed, dusty … it was because he had taken me out of some gypsy barracks, where they had called me to dance a tarantella … I was a Freemason, they wanted to commit me to setting up a workshop with some French people, refusing to believe that I am a profane man with a bond.
On one of the appointment days, I found that we were not having lunch in the common room, but in a reserved apartment, ready to correspond with a splendid lunch, the treat of a Russian who had filled us with gifts and attentions.
These private treats are made perfectly in American restaurants; But it is necessary to confess that the French take the cake and keep high the flag of gastronomic supremacy.
Comfortable velvet armchairs; vertical light penetrating between waves of white and gold gauze; mirrors, couches, flowers, with extraordinary profusion.
I had pictured the hairy Russians with broad shoulders, long eyebrows and sunken eyes: a Russian like those depicted in woodcuts.
We waited restlessly: at a certain time, the servant announced to our guest that he was a beautiful young man dressed with exquisite elegance. But I hardly noticed the Russian, because he had the creature hanging from his arm
more poetic and angelic than you can imagine: without further investigation, I declared within myself that Russian women were the most beautiful women in the universe.