"Coffee existed in the age of King Louis XIV, but it did not truly become popular until the end of the seventeenth century. A Sicilian named Francisco Procopio promoted a new drink at the Saint-Germain fair. His establishment was beside the tennis courts and bowling greens, so fashionable people would go to his café for a small cup after bowling and chat for a while." Georgiana walked across the lawn arm in arm with Fargeon as the old perfumer spoke. "By my time, there were far more cafés. The most famous was Café Procope. Diderot, Voltaire, and Rousseau were all regulars there."
"You met Voltaire?" Georgiana asked teasingly.
"Of course not." Fargeon laughed. "If I had, I would probably be even older than I am now. But I hear the best cafés are now at the Palais-Royal. Have you been?"
Georgiana shook her head.
"The First Consul never took you to a café?" Fargeon asked.
"He did," she said flatly. "But not one at the Palais-Royal."
"How was it?" Fargeon asked.
How was she supposed to answer? Tell him that he had behaved improperly toward her like some petty hooligan?
She increasingly felt that the "Leon" she had known during that time and the man before her now were two completely different people.
"By the way, what makes the cafés at the Palais-Royal so good?" Georgiana asked.
"It used to be the palace of the Duke of Orléans, so it attracted many women," Fargeon said.
"What?" Georgiana exclaimed.
"The palace was not simply open to the public, madam. They were very curious about court life. Once there were female customers, male customers followed, and then came music and coffee." Fargeon smiled. "If you want to fish, you need bait. Women love coffee, and men love women."
Georgiana did not know