|A room in Les Maison Victor Hugo at Place des Vosges, Paris.|
"Like it, Honey?" Victor asked his wife.
She studied the intricate details of the Asian artwork, the ornate carvings and the collection of plates. Victor stood next to her expectantly. She nodded her head and smiled. "I do, Victor. It's wonderful."
Victor clutched her elbow and led her to the next room. Another green room with heavy brocade greeted her. She quickly cooed, "Beautiful," as he led her into their master bedroom: a deep, red room with an intimidating four-poster bed.
They stood there, close, staring at the dark, heavy furniture. Victor gazed at his wife while she let her eyes adjust to the dimly lit bedroom. She did not think she'd spend much time here. The red walls and ceiling were overpowering, but she knew Victor was especially proud of this room. She turned her face to him and smiled. "It's beautiful. The whole place is beautiful, Victor. You did a wonderful job decorating."
Victor beamed and turned his wife's body so that it was facing the far wall. He unfurled his arm and grandly pointed toward the high desk set against the wall.
"And here," he said proudly, "Is where I will write. I have an idea for a story set near Notre Dame..."
|This is Victor Hugo's desk, where he stood and wrote. It was well worn.|
Unfortunately, none of the pictures I took in the red rooms turned out very well.