I could have cried when I saw the Tuileries; it was only last August I had had a delightful half-hour with the Empress (she asked me to take tea with her). Then she was full of confidence in the triumph of the Emperor (who could have doubted it?), pleased that her son should have received _le baptême du feu_, as the Emperor telegraphed--oh, the pity of it all! and that was only last August--seven months ago. As we drove by I thought of the famous ball given at the Tuileries last May (_Le bal de Plébiscite_), the most splendid thing of its kind one had ever seen. And now! The Tuileries deserted, empty, the Emperor a prisoner, the Empress a fugitive! All France demoralized! All its prestige gone! One wonders how such things can be. [Illustration: RUE DE RIVOLI, WHERE THE HÔTEL CONTINENTAL NOW STANDS] Mr. Washburn said he was not sorry to have remained in Paris (an experience he would on no account have missed). He thought he had been of service to his own country and also to France. Mrs. Moulton remarked, "What would those shut up in Paris have done without you?" "Oh! I was only a post-office," he answered. "The only _poste restante_ in Paris," I said under my breath; but I did not dare utter anything so frivolous at the moment. In the Faubourg St.-Honoré things were much quieter, though there were numbers of soldiers slouching about with their muskets pointing every which way. When we arrived at last in the Rue de Courcelles (it had taken us four hours) all was as quiet as Sunday in Boston. Mr. Moulton had been almost crazy with anxiety; but the thought that we were sailing under the American colors had calmed him somewhat, and his past emotions did not prevent him from reading the _Journal des Débats_ to us. I slipped off to bed tired out, but thankful not to be any longer "under protection." _March 20th._ Louis asked permission to go and assist at the proclamation of the Commune, which was to be read at the Hôtel de Ville. There was a platform built in front of the façade, which was decorated with many red flags and covered with a red carpet, and all the new members of the committee wore the symbolical red sashes over their worthy shoulders. The statue of Henry II. was duly draped with red flags and ragged boys. Louis stood first and foremost among many of his old comrades, the famous and plucky Zouaves. Henri d'Assy read the proclamation out in a loud voice, and informed the public that the Commune (this new and charming infant) was baptized in the name of _Liberté_, _Égalité_, and _Fraternité_. There was great enthusiasm, and a salvo of artillery underlined the big words, and there arose a mighty shout of "Vive la Commune!" from thousands of hoarse throats which shook the very earth. Louis's account was worth hearing; but mine is only the truth with variations. He was most impressed, and I fancy it would not have taken much persuasion to have made him a red-hot Communist then and there.