The place reeked of vice and corruption and the dregs of Parisian society in all its rottenness gathered there: cheats, conmen and cheap hacks rubbed shoulders with under-age dandies, old roués and rogues, sleazy underworld types once notorious for things best forgotten mingled with other small-time crooks and speculators, dabblers in dubious ventures, frauds, pimps, and racketeers. Cheap sex, both male and female, was on offer in this tawdry meat-market of a place where petty rivalries were exploited, and quarrels picked over nothing in an atmosphere of fake gallantry where swords or pistols at dawn settled matters of highly questionable honour in the first place.

Every Sunday, out of sheer curiosity some of the people from the surrounding countryside would drop in. Every year would bring a fresh batch of young men, extremely young men at that, keen to make useful contacts. Casual cruisers would amble by and every so often a complete innocent would become embroiled.

La Grenouillère lived up to its name. There was a place for bathing between the tarpaulin-covered raft where drinks were served and the Pot-de-Fleurs. Women with the requisite curves came there to display their wares and their clients. Those less fortunate who required padding and corsetry to pass muster looked disdainfully on as their rivals cavorted and splashed about.

Awaiting their turn to plunge in and thronging around a small diving board were swimmers of every shape and size: some slim and straight as vine-poles, some round as pumpkins, some gnarled as olive-branches, some with bodies curved forward over pot-bellies, some whose vast stomachs threw the body backwards. Each was as ugly as the other as they leapt into the water and splashed the customers drinking at the café next door.

Despite the proximity of the river and the huge trees shading it, the place was suffocatingly hot. Mingling with the fumes of spilt drinks came the smell of flesh and the cheap perfume with which the skin of those trading in sex was drenched. Underlying all these smells was the slight but persistent aroma of talc, which wafted with varying intensity as if an unseen hand were waving some gigantic powder-puff over the entire scene.

All eyes were on the river where the comings and goings of the boats attracted everyone’s attention. Girls sprawled in the stern opposite their strong-wristed menfolk looked with contempt at those still prowling about the island in search of a male to buy them dinner that night. Sometimes when a crew in full swing flashed past their friends ashore would shout and were joined by the crazy, yelling crowd inside the restaurant. At the bend of the river near Chatou boats were constantly coming into view. As they approached and grew more distinct, faces became recognizable and more shouts went up.