And he wrote: "It was in 1874, about the middle of May, when France, in
her exhaustion, was reposing after the catastrophe of the terrible
year."
He stopped short, not knowing how to lead up to what should follow--his
embarkation, his voyage, his first impressions.
After ten minutes' reflection, he resolved to put off the introductory
slip till to-morrow, and to set to work at once to describe Algiers.
And he traced on his paper the words: "Algiers is a white city," without
being able to state anything further. He recalled in his mind the pretty
white city flowing down in a cascade of flat-roofed dwellings from the
summit of its hills to the sea, but he could no longer find a word to
express what he had seen and felt.