race of the palace of Saint-Cloud, in
the midst of the ruins of that palace, I passed my day looking at Paris
burn. It is a dead, destroyed, and annihilated city.

PARIS, _June 10, 1871_.

Not at all. It is still the most beautiful city in Europe, and the most
brilliant, and the most gay. I shall spend some time in Paris.

PARIS, _June 29, 1871_.

Yesterday M. Thiers, in the Bois de Boulogne, held a review of a hundred
thousand men. Will there always be a France?

IN THE EXPRESS

"When one bears the name of Luynes or La Tremoille, I can readily
understand the desire to continue the Luynes or the La Tremoilles; but
really when one is named Chamblard, what possible object can there be
in--Eh? Answer."

In this fashion young Raoul Chamblard talked while comfortably settled
back in a large red velvet arm-chair. This happened on the 26th of
March, 1892, in one of the parlor-cars of the express to Marseilles,
which had left Paris at 8.50 that morning. It was now five minutes past
nine. The train with much racket was crossing the bridge of Charentin.
Young Chamblard was talking to his friend, Maurice Revoille, who, after
a six weeks' leave, was going to join his regiment in Algeria.

The lieutenant of light cavalry responded to his friend's question with
a vague gesture. Raoul Chamblard continued:

"However, it's my father's fixed idea. There must be Chamblards after
me. And as papa has but one son, it's to me he looks to do what is
necessary."

"Well, do what is necessary."

"But I am only twenty-four, my dear fellow, and to marry at twenty-four
is hard. It seems to me that I'm still entitled to a little more fun,
and even a good deal."

"Well, have your fun."

"That's just what I've done up to now. I have had a first-rate time! But
I've taste only for expensive amusements. I don't know how to enjoy
myself without money, and I haven't a cent. Do you understand? Not a
cent!"

"You? You are very rich."

"A great mistake! Upon coming of age, three years ago, I spent what was
left me by my mother. Mother wasn't very rich; she was worth six hundred
thousand francs, not more. Papa made almost a love-match. The six
hundred thousand francs vanished in three years, and could I decently do
anything else as the son of my father? He is powerfully rich!"

"That's what's said."

"And it's very true. He has a dozen millions which are quite his own,
and can't be hurt by an accident; and his bank still goes