Madame S. had a brilliant plan. The Musee Rodin is but a stone’s throw from Les Invalides, so after venerating Napoleon’s tomb we stepped around the corner to this wonderfully under-patronised gem. Not only was Rodin’s residence there for all to see but a number of Van Goghs and Munches were just hanging casually on the walls. The gardens were a delight, scattered with Rodin’s sculptures throughout. I scuffed up and retained a small shard of terracotta with a trace of blue and white glaze remaining, undoubtedly a piece of Rodin’s own work, perhaps smashed in a fit of pique by that great though mercurial genius during a fit of creative furor. Madame S. listened to my premise and although her impeccable manners ensured that nothing scathing passed her lips I could tell she remained unconvinced.
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