The boulevard, that river of humanity, was alive with people in the golden light of the setting sun. The whole sky was red, blinding, and behind the Madeleine an immense bank of flaming clouds cast a shower of light the whole length of the boulevard, vibrant¹ as the heat from a brazier.

 

The gay, animated² crowd went by in this golden mist and seemed to be glorified³. Their faces were gilded⁴, their black hats and clothes took on purple tints⁵, the patent leather of their shoes cast bright reflections on the asphalt of the sidewalk.

 

Before the cafes a mass of men were drinking opalescent⁶ liquids that looked like precious stones dissolved in the glasses.

 

In the midst of the drinkers two officers in full uniform dazzled all eyes with their glittering gold lace. They chatted, happy without asking why, in this glory of life, in this radiant light of sunset, and they looked at the crowd, the leisurely⁷ men and the hurrying women who left a bewildering odor of perfume as they passed by.

 

All at once an enormous negro, dressed in black, with a paunch beneath his jean waistcoat, which was covered with charms, his face shining as if it had been polished, passed before them with a triumphant⁸ air. He laughed at the passers-by, at the news venders, at the dazzling sky, at the whole of Paris. He was so tall that he overtopped everyone else, and when he passed all the loungers turned round to look at his back.

 

But he suddenly perceived the officers and darted⁹ towards them, jostling the drinkers in his path. As soon as he reached their table he

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