[Illustration: FEMALE CURIOSITY AT PORTE MAILLOT. “Prenez garde, Mam’zelle.”]
This morning, the 25th of April, at nine o’clock, a dense crowd moved up the Champs Elysees: pedestrians of all ages and classes, and vehicles of every description. The truce obtained by the members of the Republican Union of the rights of Paris was about to begin, and relief was to be carried to the sufferers at Neuilly. However, some precautions were necessary, for neither the shooting nor the cannonade had ceased yet, and every moment one expected to see some projectile or other fall among the advancing multitude. In the Avenue de la Grande Armee a shell had struck a house, and set fire to it. Gradually the sound of the artillery diminished, and then died away entirely; the crowd hastened to the ramparts.
[Illustration: PORTE MAILLOT AND CHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND.
The chapel was erected by Louis Philippe in memory
of the Duke of
Orleans, killed on the spot, July 18th, 1842.]
The Porte Maillot has been entirely destroyed for some time, in spite of what the Commune has told us to the contrary; the drawbridge is torn from its place, the ruined walls and bastions have fallen into the moat. The railway-station is a shapeless mass of blackened bricks, broken stones, glass, and iron-work; the cutting where the trains used to pass is half filled up with the ruins. It is impossible to get along that way. Fancy the hopeless confusion here, arising among this myriad of anxious beings, these hundreds of carts and waggons, all crowding to the same spot. Each one presses onwards, pushing his neighbour, screaming and vociferating; the National