He passed on, jostling the crowd good-humoredly, being jostled in the same spirit, hugging his freedom with a silent joy.
Down the rue Halevy he went and on into the Place de l'Opera; but here he slackened his pace, and something of his _insouciance_ dropped from him.

The wide space filled with its cosmopolitan crowd, the opera-house itself, so aloof in its dark splendor, spoke to him of another Paris--the Paris that might be Vienna, Petersburg, London, for all it has to say of individual life.

His mood changed; he paused and looked back over his shoulder in the direction from whence he had come.

But the hesitation was fleeting; a quick courage followed on the doubt.

The adventurer must take life in every aspect--must face all questions, all moments! He turned up the collar of his coat, as though preparing to face a chillier region, and went forward boldly as before.
One or two narrow streets brought him out upon the Place de Rivoli, where Joan of Arc sat astride her golden horse, and where great heaps of flowers were stacked at the street corners--mimosa, lilac, violets.