ween my two feather beds in true German fashion, dreaming of la
belle France, and of the grapes at Argenteuil, when rap, rap, rap! comes
a tantamarre at the chamber door, and I start up wide awake all at once,
and hear a shuffling noise outside, and a rough voice which calls to be
admitted. 'Diable! qu'est que tu veux, donc?' I inquire. But before I
can make up my mind whether to admit them or not, crack! goes the door,
and half a dozen Prussian police take my citadel by storm, and surround
me in a moment. I complain indignantly, but it is of no use. I hurl at
them--not my boots--but all the hard words I know of in their own
abominable language, together with a considerable quantity of good
French, but all of no avail; for they make me dress myself and carry me
off bodily with bag and baggage to the police-bureau. And what was it
all about, pense tu? Just this: they said I had got into a suspected
house, and that it was for my own protection I was made a prisoner of!
Nom de Dieu! that might be all very well, but there was no necessity to
pull me out of bed to take care of me; and it was not till I had shown
that my papers were all _en regle_, and threatened an appeal to the
French Ambassador, that they gave me these soft words, and expressed
their regret at my discomfiture. Du reste, what can you expect? they are
only Prussians." This is item number two.

I too have a little experience of the Prussian Police; let me relate it.
Being regularly domiciled, it was necessary that I should inform them of
my residence. I stand within the dingy little bureau, and hand over a
certificate from my landlord in proof of my place of habitation. The
liveried functionary casts it back to me, with the curt remark, "It is
imperfect, the year is omitted." And so it is; and I trudge back to my
landlord to have this rather important omission rectified. Returning, in
haste, I re-present my document, corrected and revised, for inspection.
"This won't do," exclaims the irate registrar of apartments; "the day of
the week should be mentioned." Dull-headed landlord! unlucky lodger!--it
should have been written, "_Wednesday_, the 19th of," etc. This looks
something like quibbling, however, and no doubt I express as much by my
countenance as I leave the bureau, and race back to Jerusalem Strasse
once more. For the third time I offer my credentials. "This will do,"
observes the official, with a ferocious calmness, "but I must have a
d