lysees, and in the Bois de Boulogne
where gay Paris disports itself. It was the morning after the riot, when
they drove unattended, you will remember, through the streets where the
rioters had gathered. We were in one of the shops upon the Rue de
Rivoli. Just across the way rose the Tuileries from the sidewalk. A
crowd began to collect about the open archway through the palace, which
affords entrance and egress to the great square around which the palace
is built. "What is it?" we asked of the voluble Frenchman who was
gradually persuading us that brass was gold. "L'Empereur," he replied;
which sent us to the sidewalk, and put from our minds all thoughts of
oxidized silver and copper-colored gold. Just within the arch paced a
lackey in livery of scarlet and gold, wearing a powdered wig and general
air of importance. On either side, the sentries froze into position. The
_gendarmes_ shouted and gesticulated, clearing the streets. A mounted
attendant emerged from the archway; there followed four bay horses
attached to a plain, dark, open carriage; upon the front seat were two
gentlemen, upon the back, a gentleman with a lady by his side. His hair
was iron gray, almost silvery. He turned his face from us as he raised
his hat gravely to the crowd, displaying a very perceptible bald spot
upon the back of his head as he was whizzed around the corner and down
the street. And that was Napoleon III. We saw no American lady in Paris
dressed so simply as the empress. Something of black lace draped her
shoulders; a white straw bonnet, trimmed with black, with a few pink
roses resting upon her hair, crowned her head. She bowed low to the
right and left, with a peculiar, graceful motion, and a smile upon the
face a little worn and pale, a little faded,--but yet the face we all
know so well. Beautiful Spanish woman, whose face was your fortune,
though you smiled that day upon the people, your cheeks were pale, your
eyes were full of tears.

There is nothing more wonderful in Paris than the tomb prepared to
receive the remains of the first Napoleon, in the chapel of the Hotel
des Invalides; fitting, it would seem to be, that he should rest here
among his old soldiers. We left the carriage at the gateway, and crossed
the open court, mounted the wide steps, followed the half dozen other
parties through the open doors, and this was what we saw. At the farther
end of the great chapel or church, an altar, approached by wide, marble
steps; gi