in the square at the stairs' foot were ranged benches and boards on trestles, and there the soldiers of the Guard sat in picturesque groups enough, contrasting in the carelessness and dirt of their general appearance with the lavish ornaments of marble and gilt work which served as a background to their figures. Marching orders, more or less thumbed and torn, hung in fragments from the panelled walls; names in pencil and names in ink, and names scrawled with a finger-nail, defaced the doors and staircase wall. A sentry stood at every door to see that the citizens behaved themselves—a precaution by no means unnecessary, the outward aspect of certain members of the crowd being taken into consideration. In the Salle de la Paix a number of women were busy uncovering a number of chairs for the promised concert, and in the Salle des Maréchaux beyond, where the concert was to be given, velvet benches were already occupied by old ladies in white caps with baskets in their hands, who presented a stern aspect of endurance, as though they were determined to sit there through the preparations as well as the promised entertainment, and still to continue sitting until turned out by sword and bayonet. The "Salle des Maréchaux" exists no more except in name, for men on ladders were employed covering up the portraits which decorate the hall with screens of red silk—I suppose lest the past glory of French heroes should pale the brilliancy of the National Guard, just as the bas-reliefs of the Vendôme Column act as an outrage upon the susceptibilities of the Commune. White cloths were being tied over the busts of Napoleon's Generals, and everything relating to the past carefully obliterated—a rather foolish proceeding, considering that the bee-spangled Imperial curtains still hang over the doors, and festoons of the same drapery decorate the gallery above. The brocaded panels of the Salle du Trône were objects of much remark among the ladies, as were the tapestries of the Salle des Gobelins; but the bareness and total absence of furniture were commented on freely on all sides. Not a chair or a window blind, or even a door-plate or handle, is to be seen in any of the rooms, except in those used for the concerts, and the question arose, naturally enough. "Where is it all gone to?" The same demand was made so often of an elderly bourgeois on duty at the end of the Salle de Diane that he was fairly bewildered, and looked round for help, and hailing the gold stripes on my cap as a haven of relief, he forthwith seized upon me as a superior officer, and insisted on an explanation. "You know there were quantities of cases carried off during the time before Sedan," he said, "but, with all their cunning, they can't have dismantled a whole palace of this size, can they?" And the crowd stood round endeavouring to account for the nakedness of the land, until a remark that the Commune had been feathering their nests with the chairs and tables dispersed them laughing. The Empress's bedroom was a great attraction, Chaplin's charming decorations being subjects of sufficient interest, independent of the absent furniture. The looking-glasses which spring from the walls called down ejaculations of delight from a party of dressmakers, who carefully took notes of the mechanism, "in order to imitate it, my dear, when Paris becomes itself again." There was a large placard upon the wall of a kind of library, inviting the attention of the public to the secret arrangements in a recess whereby the Empress obtained her dresses and linen from some manufactory of garments above, and an old lady, after having carefully examined the elaborate details, turned away with a sigh and a shake of the head. "How foolish of them, after all, not to have done a little for us in order that they might have continued to abide in this paradise!" How different was the Empress's apartment this morning, bare and crowded with the dregs of the Paris population, from the night when I last saw it, the night of her flight, when bed-clothes still littered the floor, and gloves and little odds and ends of female finery told of recent occupation! All was silent then with the stillness of a coming storm; now the walls re-echo with a stir of unhallowed feet, and the spring sunshine streams in at the open window accompanied by whiffs from the garden below, while a distant cry reaches us from the street beyond of "Le Vengeur," "Le Cri du Peuple," "Le dernier ordre du Comité du Salut Public," and we detect curls of smoke about the Arch of Triumph, which remind us that the bombardment still goes on. A reflective sentry at the door of the cabinet de travail begged me to remark the portraits set round above the doors. "Those are the Empress's favourite ladies," he informed me; "are they not salopines, one would say, of the period of Montespan? And those were the ladies who were models for the women of our land—no wonder that Paris should have become the Gomorrah that it is!" In the evening the concert was given, and a wonderful bear-garden the Imperial Palace presented. Members of the Commune flitted about in red draperies and tried to find room on the already crowded benches for the struggling mob, who rubbed their hot faces with their unaccustomed white gloves, and used such language to each other as, it is to be hoped, those august walls have seldom heard. Meanwhile, the crowd increased in numbers, and by 8 o'clock the reception rooms were full, and some 2,000 people still stood in a long string in the garden outside. They behaved with the wondrous good nature which characterizes a French crowd, laughing over the absurdity of their predicament and waving the tickets, which they would never be enabled to present, jestingly at one another. In course of time the whole of the jardin privé was full of people, who looked up at the lights streaming from the windows, and sat about on chairs quietly smoking their cigars and enjoying the lovely evening, listening to the occasional boom at the other end of the long alley, where a bright flash which bore death upon its wings appeared in the sky from time to time, in mockery of the gas-lit chandeliers and feeble attempts at revelry that were going on above our heads.

The reigning scandal of the day is the affair of the Convent of Picpus. So highly roused has public indignation been by the supposed discovery of atrocities committed within those jealous walls that the people have been peremptorily excluded until the investigations of justice shall be complete. I managed, however, to penetrate within the precincts by attaching myself to the cortège of an English friend, who was journeying thither under special official orders, to investigate the case of an English Sister named Garret. In the Rue de Picpus, near Mazas prison, stand two large buildings, each surrounded by high walls, above which may be seen green trees at intervals. The one is an establishment of the Jesuites; the other the Convent of the White Nuns. The Jesuites Brothers escaped at the first sign of approaching danger, but the Sisters held their own until forced into cabs and conveyed to the cells of St. Lazare, there to await the results of a judicial inquiry into certain matters that are deemed suspicious. Arrived at the gate of the Convent, we were obliged to force our way through a crowd of angry people who demanded instant permission to enter, and who were as persistently swept back by a group of National Guards—we, however, being admitted inside the door under cover of the official pass and signatures. In the court-yard, under the shade of some fine trees, a few Guards were playing bowls in the Jesuit's alley, and making up to one of them, whose cap displayed tokens of authority, we mentioned our business, and begged permission to see what was to be seen. Our friend was very civil, accepted a cigar, and marched us off to go the rounds. He pointed out to us the fact, of which there certainly could exist no kind of doubt, that the two buildings communicated one with the other, by means of an old door which still exists at the back of a stable,