xhaustible light-heartedness, he could set to
work with a will, or dance and fiddle with a vengeance, whilst the ashes
of his city were still glowing. It came quite natural to him to
repossess himself of that city, and to drop unconcernedly into his old
ways of life.

There he was once more, the typical Parisian who must have his daily
stroll along the Boulevards; he must sit somewhere where he can sip
something and see somebody else sipping or strolling. He must watch his
opportunity of saying something polite to somebody, and, at a given
hour, he must call for an _absinthe_ and concentrate his thoughts on the
importance of an approaching meal.

And there he was again, the expert diner we all know, devoutly pinning
his napkin under his chin, and thanking the gods that at last the sacred
rites of the dinner-table could be duly performed.

One of the characteristics of the Parisian, I always thought, is that
exquisite politeness of his. What a lesson to us, who won't even make
room for a fellow-creature in a 'bus if we can help it!

In former days I used to say that I could always tell, if I wanted, to
what nationality any particular man in the motley crowd of loungers on
the Boulevards belonged. I need but tread on his toes, and he would use
strong language in his mother-tongue. The German would invoke the "holy
thunder-weather," the Dutchman would be still more sacrilegious, the
Englishman would damn something--probably the eyes I should have made
use of; and so on--each would fling his pet wicked word at me. Only the
Frenchman would raise his hat and say, "Pardon, monsieur."

Knowing and loving the amiable city as I did--I had spent altogether
about six years there--I was deeply interested in her fortunes and
misfortunes, and now warmly welcomed the first signs of returning
prosperity.

* * * * *

The cannon's roar had ceased, people were coming from their cellars or
other hiding-places, looking for their friends and congratulating one
another on being alive. Crowds of sightseers filled the streets and
stood gaping at the ruins or commenting on the unique spectacle before
them. Barricades were being demolished, and squads of men and women were
set to work to clear the roads of broken glass, splintered wood, and
other accumulations of nondescript rubbish. Shops were being opened, and
the _Dames de Comptoir_, as correct and business-like as ever, were
getting out their books. Goods