as oppressive; luckily the gas was burning low
because the companies were as yet unable to provide a full supply. There
were few people out of uniform in either stalls or dress-circle, but the
upper parts were occupied by blouses with a fair sprinkling of cloth
coats. The women seemed to me to make the most infernal noise. The two
stage-boxes were still empty; in the others there were a good many
journalists and ladies who had come to criticize the appearance and
demeanour of the "dames de nos nouveaux gouvernants." There was one box
which attracted particular attention; one of its occupants, evidently a
"dame du monde," was in evening dress, wearing some magnificent
diamonds, while it was very patent that those of her own social status
had made it a point to dress as simply as possible. I have never been
able to find out the name of the lady; I had not seen her before, I have
not seen her since.

At about a quarter to nine the doors of the stage-boxes were flung back,
and the guests of the evening appeared. But alas, they were not the
chief members of the Commune, only the secondary characters. It is
doubtful, though, whether the former could have been more magnificently
attired than were the latter. Their uniforms were positively hidden
beneath the gold lace.

Immediately, the band struck up the inevitable "Marseillaise;" the
spectators in the upper galleries joined in the chorus; the building
shook to its foundations, and, amidst the terrible din, one could
distinctly hear the crowds on the Boulevards re-echoing the strains. The
occupants of the state boxes gave the signal for the applause, then the
curtain rose, and Mdlle. Agar, in peplos and cothurnus, recited the
strophes once more. When the curtain fell, the audience rushed to the
foyer or out into the open air; at any rate, the former was not
inconveniently crowded. Among those strolling up and down I noticed the
lady of the diamonds, on the arm of a rather common-looking individual
in a gorgeous uniform. I believe I caught sight of the American
Minister, but I will not be certain.

This time the curtain rose upon an act of a comedy; the spectators,
however, did not seem to be vastly interested; they were evidently
waiting for the duo to be sung by Madame Ugalde and a tenor whose name I
do not remember. He was, I heard, an amateur of great promise.

Scarcely had Madame Ugalde uttered her first notes, when a bugler of the
franc-tireurs of the Commune stepped