"Le brav' Général" they called him. Up to the twenty-eighth of January, 1889, he was the hope of France. He was to be Head of the Army, Prime Minister, or President, or King, or Emperor, or Dictator, whatever he chose. He was to save France. She needed saving. Politically, she was in the dismallest bog. She needed a MAN, thought she had found him in Boulanger, and on the twenty-seventh of January, Paris was to elect him to Parliament. Paris would give him a backing so enormous that he would "seize the reins of power." There would be a _coup d'état_. That was what the papers said. There was quite a commotion, naturally. Obviously I must go to Paris before the twenty-seventh; I must see the _coup d'état_ whose approach was thundering from all the presses of Europe. There would be articles by the yard. In those {262} times, newspaper reproductions of photographs were even less satisfactory than they are now. I looked about for an artist who could go with me and illustrate my articles. He must know something about the trick of drawing for newspaper reproduction, he must be a quick worker, for there was no time to be lost, and he must not be too well known because the chances were that a well-known artist would n't be able to cast his work aside at a day's notice, and bolt with me for Paris. I sent my assistant to find the right man. He returned to me with a dejected look. "I 've found only one man who can go," said he. "One is enough," said I. "Yes, but--will he do? I 've only these two specimens of his work to show you." And he laid two small drawings before me. "Capital!" said I. "He has been in Paris, studied art there. And he lives in Chelsea." "Terms all right?" I asked. "Yes." "Then I 'll see him to-morrow. By the way, what is his name? "L. Raven-Hill."