By Rory Winston
Ensconced within a muted realm of marble busts and ivory floors, one can still hear the faint sound of muffled tittering and languid sighs. Perhaps, Philippe the First is at it again – still wandering down a nearby corridor in a lady’s dress while watching Antoine Coypel redecorate his palace; or, perhaps, it was only Karl Lagerfeld being hissed at by Choupette after spending too much time with a new male model. No matter; the walls are soundproof but the echo of history is unmistakable. As chartreuse, ecru and lavender spill from gauzed walls, each room is bathed in a smoky glow. Here, reality is no more than a penumbra; and we are soon lost between the subtle and elegant tones of today and the deliciously sensuous hues of an effusive past. This is the world of the Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal, a boutique property whose domain is several centuries in length and multiple aesthetic tiers in breadth.