I stroked the furry lining of the coveted garment, and the young prefect, still choking with laughter, began to empty the pockets of his overcoat. He pulled out a magnificent white silk muffler from the largest pocket. “Will you allow me to keep my muffler?” he asked. I put on a resigned expression and nodded my consent. Our host then rang, and when the usher appeared he handed him the overcoat, and said in a solemn voice, in spite of the laughter in his eyes: “Will you carry this to the carriage for these ladies?” I thanked him again and went away feeling very happy. Twelve days later I returned, taking with me a letter covered with the signatures of the householders and tradesmen living near the Odéon. On entering the prefect’s room I was petrified to see him, instead of advancing to meet me, rush toward a cupboard, open the door, and fling something hastily into it. After this he leaned back against the door as though to prevent my opening it. “Excuse me,” he said, in a witty, mocking tone, “but I took a violent cold after your first visit. I have just put my overcoat—oh, only an ugly, old overcoat, not a warm one,” he added quickly, “but still an overcoat, inside there, and there it is now, and I will take the key out of the lock.” He put the key carefully into his pocket, and then came forward and found me a chair. Our conversation soon took a more serious turn, though, for the news was very bad. For the last twelve days the _ambulances_ had been crowded with the wounded. Everything was in a bad way, home politics as well as foreign politics. The Germans were advancing on Paris. The Army of the Loire was being formed. Gambetta, Chanzy, Bourbaki, and Trochn were organizing a desperate defense. We talked for some time about all these sad things, and I told him about the painful impression I had had on my last visit to the Tuileries, of my remembrance of everyone, so brilliant, so considerate, and so happy formerly, and so deeply to be pitied at present. We were silent for a moment, and then I shook hands with him, told him I had received all he had sent, and returned to my _ambulance_. [Illustration: AN EARLY PORTRAIT OF SARAH BERNHARDT.]