! I have been hurrying this
way and that, looking, questioning, reading. It is now ten o'clock in
the evening. And what do I know? Nothing certain; nothing except this,
which is awful,--they are fighting.

Yes, at the gates of Paris, Frenchmen against Frenchmen, beneath the
eyes of the Prussians, who are watching the battle-field like ravens:
they are fighting. I have seen ambulance waggons pass full of National
Guards. By whom have they been wounded? By Zouaves. Is this thing
credible, is it possible? Ah! those guns, cannon, and mitrailleuses, why
were they not all claimed by the enemy--all, every one, from soldiers
and Parisians alike? But little hindrance would that have proved. It had
been resolved--by what monstrous will?--that we should be hurled to the
very bottom of the precipice. These Frenchmen, who would kill Frenchmen,
would not be checked by lack of arms. If they could not shoot each
other, they would strangle each other.

[Illustration: THE BARRICADE: EVENING MEAL--SOUP AND CIGARS, AND A
"PETIT VERRE."]

This, indeed, was unlooked for. An insurrection was feared; men thought
of the June days; that evening when the battalions devoted to the
National Assembly camped in the neighbourhood of the Bank, we imagined,
as a horrible possibility, muskets pointed from between the stones of
barricades, blood flowing in the streets, men killed, women in tears.
But who could have foretold that a new species of civil war was
preparing? That Paris, separated from France, would be blockaded by
Frenchmen? That it would once more be deprived of communication with the
provinces; once more starved perhaps? That there would be, not a few men
struggling to the death in one of the quarters of the town, but two
armies in presence, each with chiefs, fortifications and cannon? That
Paris, in a word, would be besieged anew? How abominable a surprise of
fate!

The cannonading has been heard since morning. Ah! that sound, which,
during the siege, made our hearts beat with hope,--yes, with hope, for
it made us believe in a possible deliverance--how horrible it was this
morning. I went towards the Champs Elysees. Paris was deserted. Had it
understood at last that its honour, its existence even, were at stake in
this revolution, or was it only not up yet? Battalions were marching
along the boulevards, with music playing. They were going towards the
Place Vendome, and were singing. The _cantinieres_ were carrying guns.
Some one told m