The days passed, and the boom of the cannon continued. Finally, one morning there was a great racket in the court-yard of our house. Cries, threats, oaths! The noise came up and up. Great blows with the butt ends of muskets were struck on the wardrobe doors. They were smashed in and we perceived eight or ten slovenly looking, dirty, and bearded men. Among these men was a woman, a little brunette; fairly pretty, I must say, but queerly gotten up. A black dress with a short skirt, little boots with red bows, a round gray felt hat with a large red plume, and a sort of red scarf worn crosswise. It was a peculiar style, but it was style all the same. "Oh, oh!" exclaimed the little woman, "here's luck! What a lot of dresses! Well, clear away all this, sergeant, and take those duds to headquarters." Then all those men threw themselves upon us with a sort of fury. We felt ourselves gripped and dishonored by coarse, dirty hands. "Don't soil them too much, citizens," the little woman would cry. "Do them up in packages, and take the packages down to the ammunition-wagon." The headquarters was the apartment of the young lady of the red plume. Our new mistress was the wife of a general of the Commune. We were destined to remain official dresses. Official during the Empire, and official during the Commune. The first thought of Mme. General was to hold a review of us, and I had the honor of being the object of her special attention and admiration. "Ah, look, Emile!" (Emile was the General.) "Look! this is the toniest of the whole concern. I'll keep it for the Tuileries." I was to be kept for the Tuileries! What tales of woe and what lamentations there were in the sort of alcove where we were thrown like rags! Mme. General went into society every evening, and never put on the same dress twice. My poor companions the day after told me their adventures of the day before. This one had dined at Citizen Raoul Rigault's, the Prefecture of Police; that one attended a performance of "Andromaque" at the Theatre Francais, in the Empress's box, etc. At last it was my turn. The 17th of May was the day of the grand concert at the Tuileries. Oh, my dear little baroness, what had become of you? Where were your long soft muslin petticoats and your fine white satin corsets? Where were your transparent linen chemisettes? Mme. General had coarse petticoats of starched calico. Mme. General wore such a corset! Mme. General had such a crinoline! My poor skirts of lace and satin were abominably stiffened and tossed about by the hard crinoline hoops. As to the basque, the strange thing happened that the basque of the little baroness was much too tight for Mme. General at the waist, and, on the contrary, above the waist it was--I really do not know how to explain such things. At any rate, it was just the opposite of small, so much so that it had to be padded. Horrible! Most horrible!