was made against him.  His explanation brought the famous reply from the duc, when he said it was impossible to act or to treat; there was nothing left in France—­no government, no orders—­nothing.  The due answered:  “Il y avait toujours la France.”  He didn’t look overwhelmed, rather like some one who was detached from the whole proceedings.  I saw his face quite well; it was neither false nor weak—­ordinary.  It is difficult to believe that a French general with a brilliant record behind him should have been guilty of such treachery, sacrificing his men and his honour.  His friends (they were not many) say he lost his head, was nearly crazy with the utterly unforeseen defeat of the French, but even a moment of insanity would hardly account for such extraordinary weakness.  W. and some of his friends were discussing it in the train coming home.  They were all convinced of his guilt, had no doubt as to what the sentence of the court would be—­death and degradation—­but thought that physical fatigue and great depression must have caused a general breakdown.  The end every one knows.  He was condemned to be shot and degraded.  The first part of the sentence was cancelled on account of his former services, but he was degraded, imprisoned, escaped, and finished his life in Spain in poverty and obscurity, deserted by all his friends and his wife.  It was a melancholy rentree for the Duc d’Aumale.  His thoughts must have gone back to the far-off days when the gallant young officer, fils de France, won his first military glory in Algiers, and thought the world was at his feet.  His brilliant exploit, capturing the Smala of Abd-el-Kader, has been immortalised by Vernet in the great historical picture that one sees at Versailles.  There are always artists copying parts of it, particularly one group, where a lovely, fair-haired woman is falling out of a litter backward.  Even now, when one thinks of the King Louis Philippe, with all his tall, strong, young sons (there is a well-known picture of the King on horseback with all his sons around him—­splendid specimens of young manhood), it seems incredible that they are not still ruling and reigning at the Tuileries.  I wonder if things would have been very different if Louis Philippe and his family had not walked out of the Tuileries that day!

I often asked W. in what way France had gained by being a republic.  I personally was quite impartial, being born an American and never having lived in France until after the Franco-Prussian War.  I had no particular ties nor traditions, had no grandfather killed on the scaffold, nor frozen to death in the retreat of “La Grande Armee” from Moscow.  They always told me a republic was in the air—­young talents and energy must come to the front—­the people must have a voice in the government.  I think the average Frenchman is intelligent, but I don’t think the vote of the man in the street can have as much value as that of a man who has had not only a good education but who has been accustomed always to hear certain principles of law and order held up as rules for the guidance of his own life as well as other people’s.  Certainly universal suffrage was a most unfortunate measure to take from America and apply to France, but it has been taken and now must stay.  I have often heard political men who deplored and condemned the law say that no minister would dare to propose a change.