eyes at the National Guards on duty, lounging and carousing down below.
"The stairs were littered with bedding and cooking utensils, shirts and stockings hanging to dry over the gilt railings, while in the square at the stairs' foot were ranged benches and boards on trestles, and there the soldiers of the Guard sat in groups picturesque enough, contrasting in the carelessness and dirt of their general appearance with the lavish ornaments of marble and gilt work which served as a background to their figures. Marching orders, more or less thumbed and torn, hung in fragments from the panelled walls; names in pencil and names in ink, and names scrawled with a finger-nail, defaced the doors and staircase wall. A sentry stood at every door to see that the citizens behaved themselves—a precaution by no means unnecessary, the outward aspect of certain members of the crowd being taken into consideration.
"In the Salle de la Paix a number of women were busy uncovering a number of chairs for the promised concert and in the Salle des Maréchaux beyond, where the concert was to be given, velvet benches were already occupied by old ladies in white caps with baskets in their hands, who presented a stern aspect of endurance, as though they were determined to sit there through the preparations as well as the promised entertainment, and still to continue sitting until turned out by sword and bayonet. The 'Salle des Maréchaux' exists no more except in name, for men on ladders were employed covering up the portraits which decorate the hall with screens of red silk—I suppose lest the past glory of French heroes should pale the brilliancy of the National Guard, just as the bas-reliefs of the Vendôme Column act as an outrage upon the susceptibilities of the Commune. White cloths were being tied over the busts of Napoleon's generals, and everything relating to the past carefully obliterated—a
