In a word, nothing but Poincaré, only Poincaré, until the announcement that M. Lépine, Chief of the Paris Police, had tendered his resignation, that his decision to retire was “irrevocable.” Then M. Lépine leading in the photographic commerce of the rue de Rivoli: and M. Poincaré a poor second, and the blonde Mademoiselle Deslys a remote third. Elsewhere and everywhere, M. Lépine and his resignation superseded M. Poincaré and the New Régime, as the one and only topic of conversation. For twenty years the Chief of the Police had governed his own departments of Paris with extraordinary skill. Throughout that period he had practically lived in the streets: repressing riots, scattering criminals, dispersing Royalist conspirators, controlling fires, directing all manner of grim or poignant or delirious operations—a short, slender, insignificant-looking figure, in ill-fitting clothes, a dusty “bowler” hat, and square, creaking boots. With him, a shabby umbrella or a stout, common walking-stick, the latter the only weapon he ever carried. Never more than four or five hours’ sleep: even then the telephone placed at his bedside. It was all work with M. Lépine—all energy, all courage. The most familiar figure in the streets, he soon became the most famous and most popular of State servants. Cried M. le Bourgeois, whilst out walking with his small son: “_Voilà—regarde bien—voilà_ Lépine!” Everyone “saluted” him, all political parties (except the United Socialists, who admire no one) applauded him. There was (with the same solitary exception) general rejoicing when the dusty, intrepid little Chief of the Police received the supreme distinction of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Yes; a popularity even vaster than M. Poincaré’s. Gossips remarked that it was curious that the Presidency of the one should synchronise with the resignation of the other. Critics agreed that if France had gained a strong Chief of the State she had lost an incomparable Chief of the Police. Alarm of M. le Bourgeois, who had got to regard M. Lépine as his special protector. Once again, and for the hundredth time, M. Lépine became the hero of the hour. And, as I have already recorded, there was a rush for Lépine photographs—Lépine side and full face, Lépine gay or severe, Lépine with Grand Cross or shabby umbrella, and a decided “slump” in Poincarés and blonde, bejewelled Gaby Deslys’ in the rue de Rivoli arcade.