rdrobes.

But it happened that a few days after the departure of the little
baroness for Versailles we heard loud firing beneath the windows of the
house (we lived in the Place Vendome). Was it another revolt, another
revolution? For a week nothing more was heard; there was silence. Then
at the end of that week the cannonade began around Paris worse than
ever. Was the war recommencing with the Prussians? Was it a new siege?

The days passed, and the boom of the cannon continued. Finally, one
morning there was a great racket in the court-yard of our house. Cries,
threats, oaths! The noise came up and up. Great blows with the butt ends
of muskets were struck on the wardrobe doors. They were smashed in and
we perceived eight or ten slovenly looking, dirty, and bearded men.
Among these men was a woman, a little brunette; fairly pretty, I must
say, but queerly gotten up. A black dress with a short skirt, little
boots with red bows, a round gray felt hat with a large red plume, and a
sort of red scarf worn crosswise. It was a peculiar style, but it was
style all the same.

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the little woman, "here's luck! What a lot of
dresses! Well, clear away all this, sergeant, and take those duds to
headquarters."

Then all those men threw themselves upon us with a sort of fury. We felt
ourselves gripped and dishonored by coarse, dirty hands.

"Don't soil them too much, citizens," the little woman would cry. "Do
them up in packages, and take the packages down to the
ammunition-wagon."

The headquarters was the apartment of the young lady of the red plume.
Our new mistress was the wife of a general of the Commune. We were
destined to remain official dresses. Official during the Empire, and
official during the Commune. The first thought of Mme. General was to
hold a review of us, and I had the honor of being the object of her
special attention and admiration.

"Ah, look, Emile!" (Emile was the General.) "Look! this is the toniest
of the whole concern. I'll keep it for the Tuileries."

I was to be kept for the Tuileries! What tales of woe and what
lamentations there were in the sort of alcove where we were thrown like
rags! Mme. General went into society every evening, and never put on the
same dress twice. My poor companions the day after told me their
adventures of the day before. This one had dined at Citizen Raoul
Rigault's, the Prefecture of Police; that one attended a performance of
"Andromaque" at the Thea