d by Lord Malmesbury, an old friend in the days of his
youth, before he entered on his life of adventure. Lord Malmesbury
says:

"He came into the room alone to meet me, with that remarkable smile
that could light up his dark countenance. I confess I never was more
moved. His quiet and calm dignity, and absence of all nervousness
or irritability, were grand examples of moral courage. All the
past rushed to my memory. He must have seen what I felt, for he
said: '_A la guerre comme a la guerre_. It is very good of you
to come to see me.' In a quiet, natural way he then praised the
kindness of the Germans at Wilhelmshoehe, nor did a single plaint
escape him during our conversation. He said he had been deceived as
to the force and preparation of his armies, but without mentioning
names, nor did he abuse anybody, till I mentioned Trochu, who had
abandoned the empress, whom he had sworn to defend. During half an
hour he conversed with me as in the best days of his life, with
dignity and resignation, but when I saw him again he was much more
depressed. He was grieving at the destruction of Paris, and at the
anarchy prevailing over France, far more than he had done over
his own misfortunes. That the Communists should have committed such
horrors in the presence of their enemies, the Prussians, seemed
to him the very acme of humiliation and national infamy."

On Jan. 9, 1873, he died at Chiselhurst, in the presence of the
empress, who never left him, released from the storms of a fitful
existence and from intense physical suffering.

Let us return now to Paris and the Committee of Defence, its new
Republican Government. Though the people of Paris, in the excitement
consequent on the proclamation of a Republic, seemed to have forgotten
the Prussians, the prospect of their speedy arrival stared the
Government in the face. It was a Government, not of France, but
of Paris. France had had no voice in making this new Republic, nor
was it at all likely that it would be popular in the Provinces;
but meanwhile work of every kind was pressing on its hands. The
fortifications of Paris were unmanned, and, indeed, were not even
completed, and there were hardly any soldiers in the capital.

The first thing to be done was to bring provisions into the city.
Cattle, grain, salt, hay, preserved meats, in short, everything
edible that could be imagined, poured in so long as the railroads
remained open. All public buildings became storehouses,