Came across the orange carte de séjour from my year abroad, October 1982, the year that turned out to be the year(s) from hell when I got Coxsackie, then ME.
It makes me think of this wee snippet from The State of Me:
We had to register at la préfecture and get ID cards. Le préfet was like a Peter Sellers character. He glared at us while he stamped our cartes de séjour with a hundred different stamps. We started to giggle and he glimmered us a smile.