to Prince Pierre Bonaparte.  Immediately after the revolution of the eighteenth of March he started the Nouvelle Republique, an ephemeral publication which only lived a week.  On the second of April he commenced the Affranchi, or journal of free men, as he called it, Vesinier joining him in the management of it.  The popularity of Grousset caused him to be elected a member of the Commune in April, and the Government soon appointed him Minister of Foreign Affairs.  He communicated circulars to the representatives of different nations at Paris, in order to obtain a recognition of the Commune; he also sent proclamations to the large towns of France, appealing to arms.  But his means of communication with other governments, and indeed with his own envoys, was very restricted.

He was one of those who took refuge at the Mairie of the Eleventh Arrondissement, and who, knowing well that the struggle was really over, said to the silly heroes who protected them, “All is well.  The Versailles mob is turned, and you will soon join your brethren in the Champs Elysees.”  Many of them that night entered the valley of the shadow of death!  On the third of June the ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs was arrested in the Rue Condorcet, dressed as a woman, and marched off to Versailles.]

LXX.

    “Issy is taken!

    “Issy is not taken!

    “Megy[74] has delivered it up!

    “Eudes holds it still.”

I have heard nothing but contradictory news since this morning.  Is Fort Issy in the hands of the Versailles troops—­yes or no?  Hoping to get better information by approaching the scene of conflict, I went to the Porte d’Issy, but returned without having succeeded in learning anything.

There were but few people in that direction; some National Guards, sheltered by a casemate, and a few women, watching for the return of their sons and husbands, were all I saw.  The cannonading was terrific; in less than a quarter of an hour I heard five shells whistle over my head.

Towards twelve o’clock the drawbridge was lowered, and I saw a party of about sixty soldiers, dusty, tired, and dejected, advancing towards me.  These were some of the “revengers of the Republic.”

“Where do you come from?” I asked them.

“From the trenches.  There were four hundred of us, and we are all that remain.”

But when I asked them whether the Fort of Issy were taken, they made no answer.

Following the soldiers came four men, bearing a litter, on which a dead body lay stretched; and it was with this sad procession that I re-entered Paris.  From time to time the men deposited their load on the ground, and went into a wine-shop to drink.  I took advantage of one of these moments when the corpse lay abandoned, to lift the cloak that had been spread over it.  It was the body of a young man, almost