year not a vestige, not an unturned stone remained in its original place
as a witness to this chapter of Paris history.

Two porticos of the Pavillon de l'Horloge, originally forming a part of
the Tuileries, have been re-erected on the terrace of the Orangerie,
facing the Place de la Concorde.

There remain but two survivors of the late imperial sway in France, the
Empress Eugenie who lives in England, and Emile Olivier, "_l'homme au
coeur leger_," who lives at Saint Tropez in the Midi.

A Paris journalist a year or more ago, while sitting among a little
coterie of literary and artistic folk at Lavenue's famous terrace-cafe,
recounted the following incident clothed in most discreet language, and
since it bears upon the Tuileries and its last occupants it is repeated
here.

"Last night beneath the glamour of a September moon I saw a black shadow
silently creep out from beneath the gloom of the arcades of the Rue de
Rivoli just below the Hotel Continental. It crossed the pavement and
passed within the railings of the gardens opposite, one of the gates to
which, by chance or prearranged design, was still open. It moved slowly
here and there upon the gravelled walks and seated itself upon a
solitary bench as if it were meditating upon the splendid though sad
hours that had passed. Was it a wraith; was it Eugenie, late empress of
the French?"

To have remembered such a dream of fancy for forty long years one must
have been endowed with superhuman courage, or an inexplicable
conscience.

The Rue des Pyramides, which has been prolonged to the banks of the
Seine, will give those of the present generation who have never seen the
Tuileries an exact idea of its location. If it still existed the facade
of the palace would front upon this street.

The most moving history of the detailed horrors of the Commune,
particularly with reference to the part played by the Tuileries therein,
is to be found in Maxime Ducamp's "_Les Derniers Convulsions de Paris_."

One relic of the Tuileries left unharmed found a purchaser in a
Roumanian prince, at a public sale held as late as 1889. This was the
ornately beautiful iron gate which separated the Cour du Carrousel from
the Cour des Tuileries. Roumanian by birth, French at heart and Parisian
by adoption, this wealthy amateur, for a trifle over eight thousand
francs, became the owner of a royal souvenir which must have cost five
hundred times that sum.

The eastern front of the Tuilerie