It's a characteristic of
airplane bombs that they frighten no one, even when they kill. The
machine you see does not frighten you; only the machine you can't see
upsets your nerves.

However that may be, the curiosity of Paris was insatiable. Even in
the tragic hours we were living through at that time, this curiosity
remained as eager, ardent and amused as ever. Every afternoon, at the
stroke of four, crowds collected in the squares and avenues. The
motive was to see the Taubes! Since one Taube had flown over the city,
no one doubted that a second one would come the next day. A girl's
boarding school obtained a free afternoon to enjoy the spectacle. The
midinettes were allowed to leave their work. At Montmartre, where the
steps of the Butte gave a better chance of scanning the horizon,
places were in great demand.

There was a crowd along the fortifications to see the works for the
defense on which, by General Gallieni's order, men were working.
Thousands of spectators of both sexes, but especially of women, were
examining the bases that were being put in for the guns, the openings
they were making to serve as loopholes, the joists they were putting
across the gates, and the paving stones with which the entrances were
being barricaded. This crowd did not want to believe in the proximity
of the enemy. Or, if it believed it, it didn't want to admit that
there was danger. Or, if it admitted that there was danger, it wanted
to share in it. Above everything it wanted to see; it wanted to see!

The last night in August I had a hard time freeing the approaches of
the gate I was guarding. There were only women, but there were
thousands of them and neither prayer nor argument could persuade them
to make up their minds to go home.

"Nothing will happen," I told them. "Look here now, be reasonable and
go home to bed."

"But we want to see...."

"What do you want to see?"

"Want to see what kind of a reception the Prussians will get if they
come."

Aside from this the mob was remarkably easy to get on with. A strict
order had forbidden that anyone be permitted to enter or leave Paris
until sunrise. As a result the capital found itself cut off from the
suburbs, and lots of little working girls, who came in for the day
from Clichy or Levallois-Perret, couldn't get back to their homes in
the evening. They had to camp out under the stars.

"It's very amusing," they said, "here we are just like soldiers."

I even heard o