"À la Place Beauvais!" shouted the Communards. They continued giving these contradictory orders to poor, bewildered Louis until a crowd had collected, and they thought it better to stop quarreling. Henry entered the carriage, meekly taking his seat on the _strapontin_ opposite the intruders, and thinking of the peas, which ought to have been in the pot by this time, assented to be left at home, and ordered Louis to drive the triumphant Communards to the Ministry of the Interior, Place Beauvais. It would be difficult for one who did not know Louis to guess what his state of mind must have been. He was not of the kind they make heroes of; he was good, kind, and timid, though he was an _ancien Zouave_ and had fought in several battles (so he said). I always doubted these tales, and I still think Louis's loose, bulging trousers and the tassel of his red cap were only seen from behind. It was as good as a play to hear Louis's tragic account of yesterday, and it made your hair stand on end when he recounted how he had been stopped in the Rue de Castiglione, how two fiery Communards had entered the coupé and ordered him to drive to the Hôtel de Ville, where Félix Pyat had mounted the carriage. What must his account have been in the kitchen? However, the principal thing was that the harassed peas were safe in the kitchen and in time to be cooked and figure on the menu as _légumes_ (_les petits pois_). Our guests' faces beamed with satisfaction at the idea of these _primeurs_, and evidently anticipated great joy in eating them; but after they had tasted them they laid down their forks and ... meditated! The servant removed the plates with their _primeurs_, wondering how such wanton capriciousness could exist in this _primeur_-less Paris. Only Mr. Moulton ate them to the last pea. We--the initiated--knew where the peculiar taste of soap, tooth-wash, perfume, etc., came from! The peas descended to the kitchen, and ascended again untouched to the hothouse, where they finished their wild and varied career. If they could have spoken, what tales they could have told! They had displaced the German Army, they had aided and abetted the cause of the Commune, and they had cost their bringer untold sums in _pourboires_, in order to furnish a few forkfuls for Mr. Moulton and a gala supper for the hens. We had an excellent dinner: a _potage printanier_ (from cans), canned lobster, corned beef (canned), and some chickens who had known many sad months in the conservatory. An ice concocted from different things, and named on the menu _glace aux fruits_, completed this _festin de Balthazar_. Mr. Moulton was obliged to don the obnoxious dress-coat, laid away during the siege in camphor, and smelling greatly of the same. He held in his hand _La Gazette Officielle_. The same shudder ran through us all. It was to be read to us after dinner! Coffee was served in the ballroom, which was dimly lighted.