And magnificent it was. Almost interminable was the procession that left the Élysée for Notre Dame, to the tragic strains of Chopin’s _Funeral March_. All along the route, soldiers and policemen. And behind the soldiers and policemen, the people of Paris—men, women and even children—who murmured their admiration at the plumes, at the flowers and at the brilliant uniforms in the cortège. Each foreign Power was imposingly represented. But most imposing of them all were the Emperor William’s envoys: three Prussian officers, veritable giants. Then, mourners from the French Army; mourners from the Chambers; mourners from the Corps Diplomatique; mourners from the Academy and Institute; mourners from every distinguished official, social and artistic sphere. And at the head of all these grand mourners the homely, plainly dressed figure of M. Émile Loubet. However, one mourner was missing: a friend of the late M. Faure: none other than M. Paul Déroulède. And yet he had deeply deplored the death of the late President, and fiercely denounced the advent of his successor. But—M. Déroulède was busy. Think: at that moment the Élysée had no master. So, what an opportunity. And as the funeral procession proceeded slowly and solemnly from Notre Dame to the cemetery, M. Déroulède might have been seen in a distant quarter of Paris with his hand on the bridle of General Roget’s horse. “À l’Élysée, Général; à l’Élysée.” Only think of it. There was General Roget with soldiers under his command, who would follow him wherever he led them. And the Élysée—practically—was empty. And thus it was the moment of moments to achieve a brilliant _coup d’état_. “À l’Élysée, Général; à l’Élysée.” But General Roget refused to turn his horse’s head in the direction of the Élysée. He preferred to return to the barracks with his men, and therefore begged M. Déroulède to release his hold of the bridle. _Manqué_, M. Déroulède’s conspiracy. In vain, his tremendous _coup d’état_. Behold our Don Quixote and his devoted Sancho Panza, in dismay and despair. Behold them some time later on their trial for conspiracy. But behold them acquitted by the jury amidst a scene of the wildest enthusiasm. And hear the joyous, triumphant proclamations that their acquittal was yet another bitter humiliation for M. Loubet. What insults and what calumnies followed! Every Nationalist organ began a fierce campaign against M. Loubet, accused him of corruption, of every conceivable meanness and crime, and exultantly related how his name was constantly being _conspué_ in Paris. Since it was “seditious” to cry “À bas Loubet,” they cried “Vive l’Armée!” and “Mort aux traîtres,” which M. Lucien Millevoye, Édouard Drumont, Henri Rochefort and Jules Guérin declared to be the same thing.