e ear;
their faces, naturally hideous, were illuminated with the joy of
freedom, and certainly the thick smoke which emanated from their pipes,
must have been more agreeable as an offering, than the faint vapours of
incense that used to arise from the gilded censers. "Marriage,
citoyennes, is the greatest error of ancient humanity. To be married is
to be a slave. Will you be slaves?"--"No, no!" cried all the female part
of the audience, and the orator, a tall gaunt woman with a nose like the
beak of a hawk, and a jaundice-coloured complexion, flattered by such
universal applause, continued, "Marriage, therefore, cannot be tolerated
any longer in a free city. It ought to be considered a crime, and
suppressed by the most severe measures. Nobody has the right to sell his
liberty, and thereby to set a bad example to his fellow citizens. The
matrimonial state is a perpetual crime against morality. Don't tell me
that marriage may be tolerated, if you institute divorce. Divorce is
only an expedient, and if I may be allowed to use the word, an Orleanist
expedient!" (Thunders of applause.) "Therefore, I propose to this
assembly, that it should get the Commune of Paris to modify the decree,
which assures pensions to the legitimate or illegitimate companions of
the National Guards, killed in the defence of our municipal rights. No
half measures. We, the illegitimate companions, will no longer suffer
the legitimate wives to usurp rights they no longer possess, and which
they ought never to have had at all. Let the decree be modified. All for
the free women, none for the slaves!"

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST. EUSTACHE--COMMUNIST CLUB.]

The orator descends from the pulpit amidst the most lively
congratulations. I am told by some one standing near me, that the orator
is a monthly nurse, who used to be a somnambulist in her youth. But the
crowd opens now to give place to a male orator, who mounts the spiral
staircase, passes his hand through his hair, and darts a piercing glance
on the multitude beneath. It is Citizen Lullier.

This young man has really a very agreeable physiognomy; his forehead is
intelligent, his eyes pleasant. Looking on M. Lullier's sympathetic
face, one is sorry to remember his eccentricities. But what is all this
noise about? What has he said? what has he done? I only heard the words
"Dombrowski," and "La Cecilia." Every one starts to his feet,
exasperated, shouting. Several chairs are about to