y will return
tomorrow.

* Victor Hugo's son.

September 2.--Charles and his friends did not return to-day.

September 3.--Yesterday, after the decisive battle had been lost, Louis
Napoleon, who was taken prisoner at Sedan, surrendered his sword to the
King of Prussia. Just a month ago, on August 2, at Sarrebrueck, he was
playing at war.

To save France now would be to save Europe.

Shouting newsboys pass, with enormous posters on which are the words:
"Napoleon III. a Prisoner."

5 o'clock.--Charles and our friends have returned.

9 o'clock.--Meeting of exiles at which Charles and I are present.

Query: Tricolour flag or red flag?

September 4.--The deposition of the Emperor is proclaimed in Paris.

At 1 o'clock a meeting of exiles is held at my house.

At 3 o'clock I receive a telegram from Paris couched in the following
terms: "Bring the children with you." Which means "Come."

MM. Claretie and Proust dined with us.

During the dinner a telegram signed "Francois Hugo" arrived, announcing
that a provisional government had been formed: Jules Favre, Gambetta,
Thiers.

September 5.--At 6 o'clock in the morning a telegram signed "Barbieux,"
and asking the hour of my arrival in Paris, is brought to me. I instruct
Charles to answer that I shall arrive at 9 o'clock at night. We shall
take the children with us. We shall leave by the 2.35 o'clock train.

The Provisional Government (according to the newspapers) is made up of
all the Deputies of Paris, with the exception of Thiers.

At noon, as I was about to leave Brussels for Paris, a young man, a
Frenchman, accosted me in the Place de la Monnaie and said:

Monsieur, they tell me that you are Victor Hugo."

"Yes."

"Be so kind as to enlighten me. I would like to know whether it is
prudent to go to Paris at present."

"Monsieur, it is very imprudent, but you should go," was my reply.

We entered France at 4 o'clock.

At Tergnier, at 6.30, we dined upon a piece of bread, a little cheese,
a pear and a glass of wine. Claretie insisted upon paying, and said:
"I want particularly to give you a dinner on the day of your return to
France."

En route I saw in the woods a camp of French soldiers, men and horses
mingled. I shouted to them: "Long live the army!" and I wept.

At frequent intervals we came across train-loads of soldiers on their
way to Paris. Twenty-five of these passed during the day. As one of them
went by we gave to th