3, Rue Royale - Maxime's


The Reprieve, p.12
'That's Maxim's,' she said, into the hollow of his ear. Maurice looked at Maxim's, and abruptly turned his head away. He'd had heard about it, and a loathsome hole it was where the bourgeois swilled champagne in 1914 while the workers fell in battle. And he said between his teeth: 'Filthy bourgeoisie!'
But he felt ill at ease, without quite knowing why. He walked with a brisk, springy step: the passers-by looked so fragile to him that he was afraid of bumping into them.
'Maybe,' said Zezette. "but its a fine street, don't you think?"

The Reprieve, p.16
The machineguns would enfilade the Rue Royale, which would lie desolate for several days, windows broken, star-haped smashes in the shop-fronts, the tables outside the cafes scattered in a litter of glass: aeroplanes circling overhead above the corpses. Then the dead would be removed, the tables picked up, the glass replaced, and life would resume its course, sturdy citizens with strong red necks and leather jackets would repopulate the street.