of Gallieni in taking charge of
the defense of Paris, he had adopted as his own. He intended to keep up
his courage to the last, just like the hardy general.

"Let them come," he exclaimed with a tragic expression. "They will find
me at my post!" . . .

His post was the studio from which he could witness the happenings which
he proposed relating to coming generations. He would entrench himself
there with the eatables and wines. Besides he had the plan--just as
soon as his partner should disappear--of bringing to live there with
him certain lady-friends who were wandering around in search of a
problematical dinner, and feeling timid in the solitude of their own
quarters. Danger often gathers congenial folk together and adds a new
attractiveness to the pleasures of a community. The tender affections of
the prisoners of the Terror, when they were expecting momentarily to
be conducted to the guillotine, flashed through his mind. Let us drain
Life's goblet at one draught since we have to die! . . . The studio of
the rue de la Pompe was about to witness the mad and desperate revels of
a castaway bark well-stocked with provisions.

Desnoyers left the Gare d'Orsay in a first-class compartment, mentally
praising the good order with which the authorities had arranged
everything, so that every traveller could have his own seat. At the
Austerlitz station, however, a human avalanche assaulted the train.
The doors were broken open, packages and children came in through the
windows like projectiles. The people pushed with the unreason of a crowd
fleeing before a fire. In the space reserved for eight persons, fourteen
installed themselves; the passageways were heaped with mountains of
bags and valises that served later travellers for seats. All class
distinctions had disappeared. The villagers invaded by preference the
best coaches, believing that they would there find more room. Those
holding first-class tickets hunted up the plainer coaches in the vain
hope of travelling without being crowded. On the cross roads were
waiting from the day before long trains made up of cattle cars. All the
stables on wheels were filled with people seated on the wooden floor or
in chairs brought from their homes. Every train load was an encampment
eager to take up its march; whenever it halted, layers of greasy papers,
hulls and fruit skins collected along its entire length.

The invaders, pushing their way in, put up with many annoyances and
pardon