-farthing,
known in France by the name of "bouchon." Their guns were resting
quietly against the wall behind them, with, in many instances, a
loaf of bread stuck on the bayonet. The sky was gray, the wind
piercingly cold. The swarming life of Paris was hushed. There was
no movement, and scarcely any sound. The shop-windows were shut,
many were boarded up; from a few hung shabby red flags, but the
very buildings looked dead. She says,--

"I felt bewildered. I could see no traces of the siege, and all
my previous ideas of a revolution were dispersed. I passed several
churches, not then closed, and being a Catholic, I entered the
Madeleine. The precious articles on the altar had been removed by
the priests, but except the words 'Liberte,' 'Egalite,' 'Fraternite,'
deeply cut in the stone over the great door, the church had not,
so far, been desecrated. I went also to mass at Notre Dame des
Victoires; but before telling my cabman to drive me there, I hesitated,
believing it to be in a bad part of the city. 'There are no bad
parts,' he said, 'except towards the Arch of Triumph and Neuilly.
The rest of Paris is as quiet as a bird's nest.' The church was
very full of men as well as women. It was a solemn, devout crowd;
every woman wore a plain black dress, every face was anxious, grave,
and grieved, but none looked frightened. As the aged priest who
officiated read the first words of the Gospel for the day, 'Be
not afraid, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,' the bombardment
recommenced with a fearful roar, shaking the heavy leathern curtain
over the church door, and rattling the glass in the great painted
windows. I started, but got used to it after a while, and paid
no more attention to it than did others. While I was in church,
the citizen patriot who was my cab-driver, had brought me three
newspapers, one of them the journal edited by M. Rochefort, which
said that it was earnestly to be hoped that the 'old assassin'
M. Thiers would soon be disposed of; that all men of heart were
earnestly demanding more blood, and that blood must be given them.
I also learned that the Commune would erect a statue to Robespierre
out of the statues of kings, which were to be melted down for that
purpose. In the Rue Saint-Honore I met a lady whom I knew, returning
from the flower-market with flowers in her hands. 'Then no one,'
I said, pointing to these blossoms, 'need be afraid in Paris?'
'No woman,' she answered, 'except of shells; but the me