‘I smoke, therefore I am’: Is this the end of the French Intellectual?

March has arrived on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. It is springtime in Paris: that enviable when and where which conjures romantic images of a blue sky over the Seine, marinières, and lovers walking hand-in-hand. Today, however, and for the rest of the week, it is raining, and under the awning of the cafe Les Deux Magots, huddled around small tables, people stare out at the street and at, well… ‘Springtime in Paris’.