political ambition and share in the dressing-gown and carpet-slipper mood of M. Armand Fallières. 3. M. RAYMOND POINCARÉ AND THE RECORD OF M. LÉPINE Last February (1913) must be accounted an important month in the history of the Third French Republic. Away, after his seven years’ official tenancy of the Élysée, went M. Armand Fallières to a comfortable bourgeois _appartement_, there, no doubt, to recall, in dressing-gown and carpet slippers, the rare joys and successes and the many shocks and miseries of his Septennat, and to speculate upon the destiny reserved for his successor, ninth President of the Republic, M. Raymond Poincaré. No commonplace destiny—that was certain. M. Fallières took possession of the Élysée amidst general indifference; M. Émile Loubet assumed office amongst eggs, threats, vegetable stalks, shouts of “traitor” and “bandit”: but M. Poincaré found Paris _en fête_—flags flying, hats and handkerchiefs whirling, the crowd in its Sunday best—on the day that _he_ became Chief of the State. A vast popularity, M. Poincaré’s! Exclaimed M. le Bourgeois: “At last we have got a strong man for a President! For the first time, there will be a master at the Élysée.” On all sides, indeed, it was agreed that M. Poincaré’s election to the Presidency signified the collapse of the tradition that the Chief of the State should be a figure-head, a mere signer of documents, placed, none too ceremoniously, before him by his Ministers. Thus, a new régime had dawned. Poincaré was “going to wake things up”; Poincaré was also “going to do things”; what precisely Poincaré was going to do nobody could explain; but “Vive Poincaré,” was the cry of the hour; and not only in luxurious, radiant Paris, but in grim, industrial centres, dull, provincial towns, and remote, obscure hamlets. Such a popularity that into the shop windows came Poincaré Pipes, Poincaré Braces, Poincaré Walking Sticks, the Poincaré Safety Razor. Then, on restaurant menus: Consommé Poincaré—Poulet Poincaré—Omelette Poincaré. More Poincaré, smiling and bowing, on dizzy kinematograph films and in the music hall revues; and imagine, if you can, the sale of Poincaré photographs in the flashy arcade of the rue de Rivoli! “Poincaré and Gaby Deslys—that’s what we are selling,” the shopkeepers stated. “But Poincaré is surpassing the blonde, elegant Gaby.”