mortification over the fast-accumulating German successes possessed the hearts of men.  In the squares companies of civilians were industriously drilling, often in the public places men wearing hospital badges extended salvers to the passers-by asking for contributions, “Pour les blesses, monsieur, pour les blesses!” Now and then well-disciplined divisions crossed the Place de la Concorde, the regiments stacking arms for a brief halt.  I studied them close at hand; these at least looked as might have looked the soldiers of the First Empire, strong and resolute, with an evident capacity for taking care of themselves even in the small matter of cooking their soup, and providing for their needs there on the asphalt.  Their officers were soldierly figures on horseback, dressed for rough work, and the gaitered legs, with the stout shoes below dusty already from long marching, were plainly capable of much more.  There was a pathos about it all, however, a marked absence of elan and enthusiasm, the faces under the kepis were firm and strong enough but they had little hope.  Nothing so paralyses a soldier as want of confidence in the leadership and these poor fellows had lost that.  The regiments passed on in turn, the sunlight glittering on their arms.  Through the vista of the boulevard the eagles of the Second Empire rose above, the grave colonels were conspicuous at the head, and the drum-beats, choked by the towering buildings, sounded a melancholy muffled march that was befitting.  It was the scene pictured by Detaille in Le Regiment qui Passe.  Could he have been with us on the curbstone making his studies?  It was indeed for them a funeral march, for they were on they way to Sedan.  The Prussians, it was said, were within four days’ march of the city, and the barrier at Metz had been completely broken down.

In most minds Paris is associated with gayety, my Paris, on the other hand, is a solemn spot darkened by an impending shadow of calamity.  The theatres were closed.  No one was admitted to the Invalides, so that I could not see the tomb of Napoleon.  The Madeleine was open for service, but deep silence prevailed.  In the great spaces of the temple the robed priests bowed before the altar and noiseless groups of worshippers knelt on the pavement.  It was a time for earnest prayers.  The Louvre was still open and I was fortunate enough to see the Venus of Milo, though a day or two after I believe it was taken from its pedestal and carefully concealed.  The expectation was of something dreadful and still the city did not take in the sorrow which lay before it.  “Do you think the Prussians will bombard Paris?” I heard a man exclaim, his voice and manner indicating that such a thing was incredible, but the Prussian cannon were close at hand.  For our part, my companion and I thought we were in no especial danger.  We quartered ourselves comfortably at a pension, walked freely about the streets, and saw what could be seen with the usual zest of healthy