The day following the famous “baptism” was quiet. On the next day (the 4th) Marshal Canrobert’s wife dined at St. Cloud, and she was still there when the Empress received the two telegrams, announcing the defeat at Weissemburg, sent by Marshal MacMahon to the Emperor, who transmitted them to the Empress without any alteration. _Marshal MacMahon to the Emperor._ 1. Douay’s division attacked by two divisions. Douay seriously wounded--obliged to retreat fighting--rallied near the Pigeonnier. 2. Three regiments of Douay’s division--the General killed [this was in cipher]--enemy’s forces considerable, at least two army corps [_i.e._, 60,000 men]--one gun taken--position at rear of Froschweiler--I shall attack if necessary--to resume the offensive at least three more divisions are necessary. _The Empress to Marshal Lebœuf, Metz._ As soon as you get news from MacMahon--no matter at what time of night--have it ciphered by Pietri[89] and send it to me. I do not want to awaken the Emperor; that is why I telegraph direct. EUGÉNIE. Half an hour after midnight Marshal Lebœuf telegraphed to the Empress to say he had no news. MacMahon’s dread telegrams were withheld from the public for more than twenty-four hours. They appeared in the papers on the 5th, after 3 p.m. This unexpected news produced great irritation in Paris. But the people’s exaltation of spirit increased and their chauvinism was unbounded. The Parisians comforted themselves by saying: “It required 100,000 Prussians to defeat 8,000 French, and our troops were not beaten until they had inflicted greater losses on the enemy than the total number of French engaged.” The boulevards rang with a hundred other similar stupidities on the 5th. “However, MacMahon will take his revenge to-morrow!” But the bad news seriously perturbed Ministers. “If,” they said, “the Crown Prince enters Alsace with 100,000 men he will attack MacMahon, who has only 35,000. That is grave indeed.” The night wore on without any further news. At midday some idiot or other, or perhaps a speculator “for the rise”--nobody ever knew which--stuck up at the Bourse this telegram: “Great victory: 25,000 prisoners, including the Crown Prince.” The Bourse became a Bedlam; the crowds on the boulevard yelled and danced and sang and wept. The “Marseillaise” was roared by men and shrieked by women and children. The grocers’ shops were cleared out of Venetian lamps, for use in the evening. Flags passed from hand to hand; houses were decked with them; and still the crowds, maddened with joy, sang themselves hoarse, and still they danced and wept. Traffic was stopped, carriages and cabs blocked the way, people climbed into them, stood on seats, and kissed each other.