How strange it all looked: the Invalides, Notre Dame, the Tuileries Gardens, the Place de la Concorde! The innumerable lights were so near and yet so far: it was a kink of the brain, but she seemed withdrawn from them, not they from her.

A woman passed with a baby in her arms.

The light from a kiosk fell on it as she passed.

What a pretty, sweet face it had.

Why did it not have a pretty, delicate Breton cap?
As she went on, that kept beating in her brain--why did not the child wear a dainty Breton cap--a white Breton cap?
The face kept peeping from behind the lights--without the dainty Breton cap.
The menagerie at last.