VOL. CXXIII

No. DCCXXXVII

D

EAR M:

PARIS, 14th March, 1871.

You will be surprised to see that I am in Paris, but you will understand why when I tell you that I received a letter from Mrs. Moulton to this effect: "If you wish to go to Petit Val [our country place] to look after the things you left there when you went to Dinard last August, you had better come to Paris without delay, as the trains are running regularly now." The trains may have been running regularly (I left Dinard the next day), but they were certainly not running on time.

We arrived at Rennes too late to catch the evening train for Paris. The fine omnibus at the station made

me

imagine that it belonged to an equally fine hotel, but the hotel proved to be anything but fine; it was dreadfully dirty and shabby, and filled to overflowing. It was with the greatest difficulty I was able to secure a room for myself. My grumbling maid had to content herself with the sofa. The salle à manger was thronged with officers clanking their swords on the brick floor and all talking at once. I passed a sleepless night, being kept awake by the loud and incessant conversations in the corridor and the continual tramping of soldiers under my window. We started for Paris the next morning at eight o'clock. The train was crowded with people who, like myself, were eager to return home after so many months of

anxious waiting. In all the stations through which we passed one saw nothing but soldiers-their ragged uniforms hanging on their emaciated forms, their feet-which had been frozen in January (poor things!)--were still bandaged, and hardly any of them possessed shoes; they did look, indeed, the picture of abject. Inisery.

At Le Mans, the place where we stopped for luncheon, the soldiers were lying about on the brick pavement of the station, too tired and worn out to move, waiting for the cattle-vans to take them away. In these they would be obliged to stand until they reached Paris and its hospitals. Every one of the travelers was anxious to alleviate their misery in some way, by offering them cigars, food, and money. My heart bled for the poor creatures, and I gave them all I had in my purse, and my luncheon also. They represented the débris of Faidherbe's army, which of all the troops had seen the most desperate fighting during the war.

napping, and Mr. Moulton reading the Journal des Débats out loud, in his impossible French.

Mr. Moulton, who had been in Paris at the time of the revolution of '48 and knew about revolutions, had had the forethought to lay in a stock of provisions, such as ham, biscuits, rice, etc., and all sorts of canned things, which he deemed would be sufficient for all their requirements. They had even given dinnerparties, limited to a very choice few, who sometimes brought welcome additions in the shape of canned delicacies.

When the family moved from Petit Val to Paris last September the French government had given them permission to keep one or two cows. They also brought with them a calf, a sheep, and some chickens. The cows and the sheep shared the stables with the horses, while the chickens were let loose in the conservatory, and were expected to lay enough eggs to pay for their board. The gardener had cleverly converted the conservatory into a sort of kitchen-garden, and had planted some useful vegetables, such as radishes, carrots, salad, etc.

16th March.

This has been a very fatiguing day for me, so you will receive only a short letter.

Paul [Count Hatzfeldt, my brother-inlaw] invited Mrs. Moulton and me to come to Versailles, and offered us a cup of tea as an inducement. You know Paul is Count Bismarck's private secretary, having been with him and the GerInan sovereign during the entire war. He is still in his abode in Versailles, but he expects to leave for Berlin one of these first days. He came to fetch us at the station with the fat ponies and the basket - wagon. Fortunately they were not too fat to carry us through the park at a lively pace and land us at Paul's palatial residence. It seemed strange to see German officers, who, in their tight-fitting uniforms, were strolling leisurely about in the park, where before I had only seen the rather slovenly pious-pious on holidays when the fountains played by day and the fireworks by night.

The park looked enchanting in its spring toilet, and made me think of the last time I was here. Could it have been only last May? It seems years ago!

We were, at that time, invited to a picnic at Grand Trianon, given by the Emperor and Empress for the Archduke of Austria.

Paul said that Bismarck liked Henry very much, and had given him passes to come and go from Petit Val as he pleased. He made him talk freely, and as Henry did not ask better than to talk (the freer, the better), Bismarck was delighted. Paul had been with the King, Jules Favre, and Bismarck at La Ferrière, where they had met without any other result than to see Jules Favre weep. Paul had been at Versailles when the King was proclaimed Emperor in the Salle de Glaces the greatest emotion he had ever experienced, he said. He had also been witness of the signing of the armistice. The pen they signed it with had been given to him, and he had it lying on his table.

17th March.

Such a funny thing happened to-day. I don't know whether I told you of some Americans, called the O-s, I had met, fresh from America (via Southampton). When I bade them good-by I said in an offhand way, "When you come to Paris you must come and see me."

"Oh, that will be nice!" gushingly replied Mrs. O—. "Where do you live?” (Every one of the O- -s' phrases commenced with Oh!).

"I live in the Rue de Courcelles," I answered.

"Roue de Carrousel," she repeated. "What number?"

"Rue de Courcelles," I replied, correctingly, "27.”

Mrs. O- -'s next question was, "Have you a flat?"

"A flat! No," I said, "we have a hotel. Every one knows our hotel in the Rue de Courcelles.”

I then proceeded to forget the O- -S and everything concerning them. This morning when we were at luncheon the concierge came rushing in, the tassels on his calotte bristling with agitation.

Madame," he gasped, "there is a fiacre full of people with a lot of trunks asking to come in to Madame. I can't understand what they want." His emotion choked him.

We all said in unison: "Ask for their cards. Who can they be?"

The porter came back with Mr. Ocard.

I recollected my impulsive invitation, and thought it very polite of them to be so empressé. I went into the salon, followed by Mlle. W, where we found Mr. O seated at his ease in a fauteuil, his feet reposing on the white bear-rug.

I apologized for having kept him waiting, but explained that we had been at luncheon.

He (complacently): "Oh, that's all right; we have just arrived in Paris, and we came straight to you."

I felt overwhelmed at such a keen appreciation of my politeness.

"How is Mrs. O--?" I said.

He answered with the inevitable "Oh!" -"Oh, she's all right. She's outside in the cab."

"Indeed!" I said, and wondered why she had not sent her card in with his, though I supposed she was waiting to be asked to come in if he found me at home. "We thought before trying anywhere else we would see if you could take us in." This staggered me considerably. I tried to take him "in" as he stood before me with traveling-cap and umbrella. "Are you full?" he went on. Mademoiselle and I wondered if we showed signs of a too copious luncheon.

"Well," he continued, nothing daunted, you see we only want one bedroom for us, with a room next for baby, and one not too far off for Arthur."

What was he driving at? Mlle. Wthought he was either a spy or a burglar who had come to take a survey of the hotel.

He, familiarly settling himself down. for a chat, said, "Do you think you could pick up a maid for Mrs. O-?"

Mademoiselle and I exchanged a glance of intelligent indulgence, and thought: All our friend wanted, probably, was a few addresses before settling themselves in Paris. How stupid of us not to have thought of this sooner! I hastened to promise all sorts of names and addresses of tradespeople, thinking he would take his departure.

Not he! On the contrary, he tucked his umbrella more firmly under his arm, and turned to Mlle. W. "Have you got a register?" taking her no doubt for la dame du comptoir.

Mademoiselle draped herself in her most Rachel-like attitude and glanced knowingly at the hot-air flue which she had been told was a register.

"We have," she answered, curtly.

"I had better write my name down." This was too much! Mademoiselle thought now that he was not a burglar, but a lunatic.

home again. Mrs. M promised to drive out and bring me back to Paris late in the afternoon. We drove to the station de la Bastille and took our tickets for La Varenne.

Having no alternative, we were obliged to walk from the station to the pontoon bridge, made, Henry said, in one night.

"Certainly we have," answered Mademoiselle, with asperity, giving her velvet bow an agitated pat.

"Money is no object," continued he. "I'm always willing to pay what one asks."

know is that the French blew up my bridge in one night. Then we made the whole distance to Petit Val on foot, passing by the Châteaux of Ormesson, Chenvières, Grand Val, and Montalon.

It seemed strange to see a sentry-box stationed at the entrance of our park

he looked about him approvingly.

"Real nice house you have, Madame; not very central, but we don't mind being in a quiet part of Paris, as Maria wants to learn French"; and seeing the conservatory, he remarked: "Arthur can play in there. That' do splendidly." After an awkward pause: "Well, if the rooms are ready we can come right in; Maria will be wondering why I have been so long." I also wondered why he had been so long!

To cap the climax, he handed Mademoiselle a five-franc piece, saying: “I guess this will cover the cab; the coachman can keep the change."

A light dawned on me. He thought this was a hotel!

I said, "When you get settled in your hotel I will come and see you."

"What? Can't you take us right in? We counted on coming to your hotel.”

I laughed outright. Mademoiselle raised what she is pleased to call her cyebrows, and shrugged her shoulders as if her patience was utterly exhausted.

gave the pass-word and we walked up the avenue toward the château. I will not weary you by trying to depict my feelings, but will leave it to you to imagine what they must have been. I looked in vain for the beautiful Lebanon cedar which, you remember, stood on the broad lawn. Henry said that it had been the first tree that the Germans had cut down, and it had been lying there on the lawn just as it fell, where the soldiers could conveniently cut their fuel. Henry called my attention to a white flag flying on the château, which at Paul's request Count Bismarck had ordered to be put there.

inclosed docuDid Bismarck be unruly and

Henry said it signified, in military language, that only staff officers were to occupy the château, and that no unnecessary damage should be done that is, as you will see by the ment, "if we are quiet." think we were likely to go about shooting people? The one thing in the world we wanted was to be quiet; the flag also signified that the château should be protected. Henry had once complained to Bismarck of the damages done by the German soldiers at Petit Val, and Bismarck had replied: “A la guerre comme à la guerre "; adding, “The German government will hold itself responsible for private losses, with the exception of those which are the consequences of a state of war; . . . there is always a certain amount of unavoidable destruction."

Henry answered: "Certain unavoidable destruction! That can cover a multitude of sins."