It is not hard to guess what the dainty duke suffered in passing through the dirty and nauseating Paris of his era to reach the foul hole among ill-kempt houses which was called a street.
Before Flageot's door the way for the ducal coach was stopped by another vehicle. He perceived a female's headdress coming out of it, and as his seventy-five years had not rebuffed him in his reputation as a lover of the ladies, he hastened to wade through the mud to offer his arm to the lady who was stepping out unassisted.
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