"All passed off well."

When I found myself in the Place de la Revolution, there were no longer
either troops or crowd; all had disappeared. A few passers-by came from
the Champs-Elysees. The night was dark and cold. A bitter wind blew from
the river, and at the same time a heavy storm-cloud breaking in the west
covered the horizon with silent flashes of lightning. A December wind
with August lightning--such were the omens of that day.

III. THE FIRST OFFICIAL DINNER. December 24, 1848.

Louis Bonaparte gave his first dinner last evening, Saturday the 23rd,
two days after his elevation to the Presidency of the Republic.

The Chamber had adjourned for the Christmas holidays. I was at home in
my new lodging in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, occupied with I know
not what bagatelles, _totus in illis_, when a letter addressed to me and
brought by a dragoon was handed to me. I opened the envelope, and this
is what I read:

The orderly officer on duty has the honour to inform Monsieur the
General Changarnier that he is invited to dinner at the Elysee-National
on Saturday, at 7 o'clock.

I wrote below it: "Delivered by mistake to M. Victor Hugo," and sent
the letter back by the dragoon who had brought it. An hour later came
another letter from M. de Persigny, Prince Louis's former companion
in plots, to-day his private secretary. This letter contained profuse
apologies for the error committed and advised me that I was among
those invited. My letter had been addressed by mistake to M. Conti, the
Representative from Corsica.

At the head of M. de Persigny's letter, written with a pen, were the
words: "Household of the President."

I remarked that the form of these invitations was exactly similar to the
form employed by King Louis Philippe. As I did not wish to do anything
that might resemble intentional coldness, I dressed; it was half past 6,
and I set out immediately for the Elysee.

Half past 7 struck as I arrived there.

As I passed I glanced at the sinister portal of the Praslin mansion
adjoining the Elysee. The large green carriage entrance, enframed
between two Doric pillars of the time of the Empire, was closed, gloomy,
and vaguely outlined by the light of a street lamp. One of the double
doors of the entrance to the Elysee was closed; two soldiers of the line
were on guard. The court-yard was scarcely lighted, and a mason in his
working clothes with a ladder on his shoulder was crossing it; nearly
all t