pt by
the side of the corpse, and when the light of morning filtered into her
dreary place of refuge, and lighted up the body lying there, she sobbed
with grief and terror. Her husband had been dead four days, when
putrefaction set in, and she, able to bear it no longer, rushed out
screaming to her neighbours: "You must bury him, or I will go into the
middle of the avenue and await death there!"--They took pity on her, and
came down into her cellar, dug a hole there and put the corpse in it.
During three weeks she continued there, resting herself on the
newly-turned earth. To-day, when they went to fetch her she fainted with
horror; the grave had been dug too shallow, and one of the legs of the
corpse was exposed to gaze.

[Illustration: FEMALE CURIOSITY AT PORTE MAILLOT. "Prenez garde,
Mam'zelle."]

This morning, the 25th of April, at nine o'clock, a dense crowd moved up
the Champs Elysees: pedestrians of all ages and classes, and vehicles of
every description. The truce obtained by the members of the _Republican
Union of the rights of Paris_ was about to begin, and relief was to be
carried to the sufferers at Neuilly. However, some precautions were
necessary, for neither the shooting nor the cannonade had ceased yet,
and every moment one expected to see some projectile or other fall among
the advancing multitude. In the Avenue de la Grande Armee a shell had
struck a house, and set fire to it. Gradually the sound of the artillery
diminished, and then died away entirely; the crowd hastened to the
ramparts.

[Illustration: PORTE MAILLOT AND CHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND.

The chapel was erected by Louis Philippe in memory of the Duke of
Orleans, killed on the spot, July 18th, 1842.]

The Porte Maillot has been entirely destroyed for some time, in spite of
what the Commune has told us to the contrary; the drawbridge is torn
from its place, the ruined walls and bastions have fallen into the moat.
The railway-station is a shapeless mass of blackened bricks, broken
stones, glass, and iron-work; the cutting where the trains used to pass
is half filled up with the ruins. It is impossible to get along that
way. Fancy the hopeless confusion here, arising among this myriad of
anxious beings, these hundreds of carts and waggons, all crowding to the
same spot. Each one presses onwards, pushing his neighbour, screaming
and vociferating; the National Guards try in vain to keep order. To add
to the difficulties there is some form to b