I know someone who has an umbrella that says "Merde. Il pleut"on it, and I wish I had one just like it.  Today, in Paris, il pleut, but it is only a fine drizzle, and not cold, so it was not unpleasant walking. We spent the morning at the Musée Rodin, which we have been to in the past, but right now they have a special exhibition showing the relationship between Rodin and Matisse, which was quite interesting, once we mastered the audio and got it to talk to us in English, not French.

The gardens surrounding that museum are lovely, and right now, in almost December, still filled with late roses.

Le Penseur sits there not minding the rain.

We had lunch at a nearby café and found ourselves seated elbow-to-elbow with a pleasant elderly couple who spoke no English but the wife wanted to converse, maybe because when she ordered the quiche and a glass of Sancerre, I duplicated her order---in fact, just told the waiter "La meme chose" ---the equivalent of the wonderful line in "When Harry Met Sally": "I'll have what she's having."   So while the men concentrated on their lunch, pointedly ignoring the women, (maybe even rolling les yeux), she told me (in French) that they have a daughter in Phoenix, and I was able to reply brilliantly in French that it is very hot in Phoenix in summer, and she agreed, Oui Oui; then I was able to get across that we live in Boston, where it is very cold in winter, and she pretended to be fascinated by the weather report and the fact that I learned how to say the four seasons in high school French class.

We did not progress to world events, or even to what it might be like in spring in Baltimore.

Martin took a cab back to the hotel but I do like walking, and was able to wander the grounds of Hotel des Invalides en route. In Paris, en automne, il pleut.