The omnibus does not go any farther than
the corner of the Avenue Marigny. An Englishwoman, whom the conductor
had just helped down, came up to me and asked me the way; she wanted to
go to the Rue Galilee, but did not like to walk up the wide avenue. I
pointed out to her a side-street, and continued my way. A little higher
up a line of National Guards, standing about ten feet distant from each
other, had orders to stop passengers from going any farther. "You can't
pass."--"But ...," and I stopped to think of some plausible motive to
justify my curiosity. However, I was saved the trouble. Although I had
only uttered a hesitating "but," the sentinel seemed to consider that
sufficient, and replied, "Oh, very well, you can pass."

The avenue seemed more and more deserted as I advanced. The shutters of
all the houses were closed. Here and there a passenger slipped along
close to the walls of the houses, ready to take refuge within the
street-doors, which had been left open by order, directly they heard the
whizzing of a shell. In front of the shop of a carriage-builder,
securely closed, were piled heaps of rifles; most of the National Guards
were stretched on the pavement fast asleep, while some few were walking
up and down smoking their pipes, and others playing at the plebeian game
of "bouchon."[46] I was told that a shell had burst a quarter of an hour
before at the corner of the Rue de Morny. A captain was seated there on
the ground beside his wife, who had just brought him his breakfast; the
poor fellow was literally cut in two, and the woman had been carried
away to a neighbouring chemist's shop dangerously wounded. I was told
she was still there, so I turned my steps in that direction. A small
group of people were assembled before the door. I managed to get near,
but saw nothing, as the poor thing had been carried into the surgery.
They told me that she had been wounded in the neck by a bit of the
shell, and that she was now under the care of one of the surgeons of the
Press Ambulance. I then continued my walk up the avenue. The
cannonading, which had seemed to cease for some little time, now began
again with greater intensity than ever. Clouds of white smoke arose in
the direction of the Porte Maillot, while bombs from Mont Valerien burst
over the Arc de Triomphe. On the right and left of me were companies of
Federals. A little further on a battalion, fully equipped, with blankets
and saucepans strapped to their knap