on of the van, had not summoned up courage to
prevent the furniture from being stowed away in it. The landlord,
however, had got scent of the affair, and had hastened to this spot.
Now, the tenant was a determined character, and as the van-men refused
to mix themselves up in the fray, he himself shouldered his last article
of furniture and carried it to the van. He was about to place it within
cover of the awning, when the landlord, like a miser deprived of his
treasure, seized it and deposited it on the pavement. The tenant
re-grasped his spoil and thrust it again into the cart, from whence it
was instantly drawn forth again by the enraged landlord. This game was
carried on for some time, each as determined as the other, grasping;
snatching, and pulling this unfortunate piece of furniture until one
wrench, stronger than the former, entirely dislocated its component
parts, and laid it in a ruined heap upon the ground. This was the moment
for the tenant to show himself a man of spirit. Taking advantage of the
surprise of the landlord, he swept the broken remains of his property
deftly into the van, bounded on to the driver's seat, shook the reins,
cracked his whip, and started off at a thundering gallop, pursued by the
huzzas of the crowd, the cries of the van-men, and the oaths of the
disappointed landlord. The van and its team of lean cattle were soon
lost to view, and the landlord was left alone on his doorstep, shaking
his fist and muttering "Brigand!"

XXIV.

What a quantity of luggage! Even those who had the good fortune of
witnessing the emigration before the siege would never have supposed
that there could be so much luggage in Paris. Well-to-do looking trunks
with brass ornaments, black wooden boxes, hairy trunks, leathern
hat-boxes, and cardboard bonnet-boxes, portmanteaux and carpet bags are
piled up on vehicles of every description, of which more than ten
thousand block up the roads leading to the railway stations. Everybody
is wild to get away; it is whispered about that the Commune, the horrid
Commune, is about to issue a decree forbidding the Parisians to quit
Paris. So all prudent individuals are making off, with their bank-notes
and shares in their pocket-books. I see a man I know, walking very fast,
wearing a troubled expression on his face. I ask him where he is
going.--"you do not know what has happened to me?" he cries. I confess I
do not.--"The most extraordinary thing: I am condemned to
d