Duc D'Esseinte

"And you think you left it in her shoe?"

"Yes, yes! I'm certain of it. I have no idea where else it could be!"

"Quelle tristesse!"

"An utter tragedy, I assure you."

"How do you think it possible such a thing could have come about?"

"Oh, I confess. I must hold myself at fault."

"Truly? How so?"

"Well, you've seen her toes, haven't you? Particularly in the summer?"

"Mmmm?"

"The rings. The rings on her toes?"

"Ah, yes, yes. They are a delight, I agree."

"An absolute medley of silvery pleasures. Yet, in the sun they flash and dance so. The music they make reverberates through one's head. Ai!"

"I think it's the gypsy dancing you hear. She works such magic when she silvers her toes."

"I agree. Still, on this occasion it was quite too much for me . . ."

"Poor man!"

" . . . so I gently placed my hat over her toes. Just to tone them down enough to allow me to clear my head, you know."

"Hmm. Well, I must say, old man, that did border on the rude. In a mild sort of way, I mean. Covering a woman's toes without her express consent . . ."

"No, no! My god, man. I would never do such a thing. I always ask a woman for leave beforehand. I may be a rake and perhaps a scoundrel, sir, but I am never rude. With knowledge aforethought, anyway."

"Of course not, of course not. And you know I didn't mean to imply any such thing."

"Thank you. You're a dear friend. But now I'm left without my hat."

"How's that?"

"Well, when I took my leave I neglected to retrieve my hat. And I'm afraid she may have slipped on a pair of Ferregamo's with my hat still dangling from her toes. Oh, the humanity!"

"Now, now, now. It'll be alright. Besides, don't you think the fit may have been a little tight? I mean, with your hat, and all?"

"Oh, but you know how delightfully petite are her feet. So delicate, so finely wrought. They belong in a museum, you know. Amongst the Delft and Meissen of grander ages."

"Bien sur, mais . . . well, may I be so bold as to suggest, um . . ."

"Please, please, go on. You are my friend. I know of nowhere else to turn."

"Alright. You may want to steel yourself. But please remember I tell you this as your friend."

"I have prepared myself, monsieur!"

"Very well. Your hat, my dear Duc, is on your head!"

"Eh? Wha . . . ? The saints be blessed, man! So it is! Oh, monsieur! Happy day! Why . . . please. Give me a moment. Only a true friend, a man of preternatural insight into the totality of all things could have wrought such a miraculous thing! Monsieur! I am your servant."

"Tut, tut. It's nothing. A friend can do no less. It gave me pleasure to be able to help one as deserving as yourself."

"Still, there must be something I can do in return? Didn't you have your eyes on that chalet in Savoy? Outside Belleville, wasn't it?

"I would not so sully myself. But if you insist you may buy me a drink when next we meet along the boulevard."

"Sans doute! Ah, but here's my cab. Is my head still on?"

"Firmly affixed!"

"Then I am off. Until we meet again, my true, true friend."

"Au revoir, mon brave. And remember what I always say."

"I never forget. Be kind to one another. It will be alright."

"Good man! May the winds be at your back and the gods be kind."


Le Boulevardier always enjoyed meeting D'Esseinte. A trifle eccentric, but no matter. Some call him mad, but he thinks that rather unkind. The man has a generous spirit, and always speaks well of others. Besides, if he does sometimes act a little unhinged it's due to the loss of the woman he loved. Such behavior deserves understanding, by its very nature.

Ah, what a glorious day along the boulevard! Look! Great clumps of cloud sailing lazily through a bright azure sea above. A warm breeze whispering gently past one's ear. It's good to be alive along the boulevard on such a day as this.

And there's always the chance he may glimpse her walking by.