send Madame
Savarin out of Paris."

"Certainly. We have made a very pleasant party for our hegira this
evening-among others the Morleys. Morley is terribly disgusted. A Red
Republican slapped him on the shoulder and said, 'American, we have
a republic as well as you.' 'Pretty much you know about republics,'
growled Morley; 'a French republic is as much like ours as a baboon is
like a man.' On which the Red roused the mob, who dragged the American
off to the nearest station of the National Guard, where he was accused
of being a Prussian spy. With some difficulty, and lots of brag about
the sanctity of the stars and stripes, he escaped with a reprimand, and
caution how to behave himself in future. So he quits a city in which
there no longer exists freedom of speech. My wife hoped to induce
Mademoiselle Cicogna to accompany us; I grieve to say she refuses. You
know she is engaged in marriage to Gustave Rameau; and his mother dreads
the effect that these Red Clubs and his own vanity may have upon his
excitable temperament if the influence of Mademoiselle Cicogna be
withdrawn."

"How could a creature so exquisite as Isaura Cicogna ever find
fascination in Gustave Rameau!" exclaimed Enguerrand.

"A woman like her," answered De Mauleon, "always finds a fascination in
self-sacrifice."

"I think you divine the truth," said Savarin, rather mournfully. "But
I must bid you good-bye. May we live to shake hands reunis sons des
meilleurs auspices."

Here Savarin hurried off, and the other two men strolled into the Champs
Elysees, which were crowded with loungers, gay and careless, as if there
had been no disaster at Sedan, no overthrow of an Empire, no enemy on
its road to Paris.

In fact the Parisians, at once the most incredulous and the most
credulous of all populations, believed that the Prussians would never be
so impertinent as to come in sight of the gates. Something would occur
to stop them! The king had declared he did not war on Frenchmen, but on
the Emperor: the Emperor gone, the war was over. A democratic republic
was instituted. A horrible thing in its way, it is true; but how could
the Pandour tyrant brave the infection of democratic doctrines among
his own barbarian armies? Were not placards, addressed to our "German
brethren," posted upon the walls of Paris, exhorting the Pandours to
fraternise with their fellow-creatures? Was not Victor Hugo going to
publish "a letter to the German people"? Had not Jules Favr