s a
constant flicker of musketry as Cissey's troops struggled with the
defender of the barricades. An incessant fire played along the end of
the Champs Elysees, flashed from the windows of the Tuileries and
fringed the parapet of the south side of the river facing the Palais.
Fires were blazing in various parts of Paris, the result of the
bombardment. The city looked strangely dark, for the men at the gas
works were for the most part fighting in the ranks of the insurgents.
The sky was lined with sparks of fire moving in arcs and marking the
course of the shell as they traversed to and fro from battery to
battery, or fell on the city.

"It is a wonderful sight, Mary."

"Wonderful, but very terrible," she replied; "it is all very well to
look at from here, but only think what it must be for those within that
circle of fire."

"I have no pity for the Communists," Cuthbert said, "not one spark. They
would not pull a trigger or risk a scratch for the defence of Paris
against the Germans, now they are fighting like wild-cats against their
countrymen. Look there," he exclaimed, suddenly, "there is a fire broken
out close to the Place de la Concorde, a shell must have fallen there. I
fancy it must be within the barricades, but none of the batteries on
either side would have been likely to send a shell there at night, as
it is so close to the line of division that the missile would be as
likely to strike friend as foe."

Higher and higher mounted the flames, spreading as they went till a huge
mass of fire lighted up all that part of Paris.

"It must be a great public building of some sort," Cuthbert said.

"See, another building is on fire a short distance away from it; look,
Cuthbert, look is that the reflection of the flames in the windows of
the Tuileries or is it on fire?

"It is fire," Cuthbert exclaimed after a minute's pause; "see the flames
have burst through that window on the first floor. Good heavens, the
Communists are carrying out their threat to lay Paris in ashes before
they yield."

In five minutes all doubt was at an end, the flames were pouring out
from every window on the first floor of the Palais, and it was evident
the fire must have been lighted in a dozen places simultaneously.

By this time the Trocadero was thronged with spectators attracted by the
light in the sky, and by the report that one of the public buildings was
on fire; exclamations of fury and grief, and execrations upon the
Commun