: Le Figaro.]

But though delivered from the Commune, not only was the Prefecture
and all in it in peril, but every building and every life upon the
island. Quantities of ammunition had been stored in the Prefecture;
if that caught fire, the "Cite" (as that part of Paris is called)
and all its inhabitants would be blown into the air. The citizens
of the quarter, the turnkeys, and the prisoners had nothing but
their hands with which to fight the flames. In the midst of the
fire they began to carry out the gunpowder. They had to make all
speed, yet to be very careful. One train of powder escaping from a
barrel, one sack of cartridges, with a rent in it, falling on the
pavement, where sparks were dropping about, might have destroyed
the whole "Cite."

There was a brave, stout woman, mistress of a coal and wood yard,
named Madame Saint-Chely. She was a native of Auvergne, whence
all porters and water-carriers in Paris come. With her sleeves
tucked up, and her hair flying, she kept carrying out sack after
sack of cartridges, undaunted, though her clothes caught fire.
Bending beneath the weight upon her back, she emptied them into
the basin of the fountain that stands in the middle of the Place,
then rushed back for more, while the flames poured from the windows
of the upper story. Her activity and cheerfulness animated every
one.

There was also a barber named Labois, who distinguished himself
by his courage and activity in rolling barrels of powder out of
the cellar of the prefecture, and plunging them into the Seine.

When several tons of powder and twenty millions of cartridges had
been carried out, danger from that source was over. The next thing was
to fight the flames. Then they discovered that all the fire-engines
had been sent away. Every basin, pitcher, bucket, or saucepan on
the island was put into requisition. Surrounded by the Seine, they
had plenty of water. All worked with a will. At last an engine
came, sent in to their help from Rambouillet.

One part of the Prefecture, whose burning caused innumerable sparks,
was the depot for lost property. It contained, among other things
twenty thousand umbrellas.

It was above all things desirable to remove the straw bedding of
the prisoners, stored by day in one large room, and while those
busy with powder and cartridges worked below, Pierre Braquond,
the turnkey, took this task upon himself, assisted by some of his
late prisoners.

The difficulty of escaping