I went down this morning to the Halles Centrales. There was very little going on. _Bonnes_ were coming to market, but most of the booths were untenanted, and the price of vegetables, eggs, and butter was exorbitant. "Why do you complain of me?" said a dealer to a customer--"is it my fault? Curse Badinguet and that wretch of a Bismarck; they choose to fight, so you must pay double for these carrots" The butchers yesterday published an appeal against the maximum; they said that the cost of animals is so great that they positively are losing upon every joint which they sell. A new proclamation of the Mayor has just been issued, announcing that 500 oxen and 4,000 sheep will daily be slaughtered and sold to the butchers at a price to enable them to gain 20 per cent, by retailing meat at the official tariff. I find that, come what may, we have coffee and sugar enough to last many months, so that provided the bread does not fail, we shall take some time to starve out. This afternoon a dense column of smoke was seen rising in the air in the direction of La Villette, and it gradually covered the town with a dark cloud. The pessimists among the Boulevard quidnuncs insisted that the town had been set on fire by the Prussians; the optimists were convinced that the 10,000, who for some reason or other are supposed to be in a wood, patiently waiting to be roasted, were being burnt. It turns out that some petroleum in the Buttes de Chaumont caught fire. After burning about two hours, the fire was put out by heaping dirt on it.