On our entrance into Paris we found the whole town in one universal gabble concerning the battle of St. Antoine. Distiches, sarcasms, and epigrams were flying in every direction; and the gay tone and witty repartee of each Parisian, from whom we even inquired our way, would but little have led a stranger to conclude that within three days an engagement had taken place at the very gates of the town, in which 4000 or 5000 men had been killed, and some of the noblest and bravest gentlemen of France had left their bodies on the field. Still less, indeed, did the gaiety and good humour, which were observable amongst the people, indicate, in any degree, the fierce and sanguinary passions which were soon to be called into action; and we rode on through the streets, amidst a crowd of as merry faces as ever I remember to have seen. Although we inquired repeatedly, no one could tell us anything certain concerning the Prince de Condé. Some said that he was even then in the town; some said he was with his army, encamped without the walls, just beyond the Faubourg St. Victor; some said that he had gone to effect his junction with the Spanish force; and the officer, whose orders were merely to join him, thought it best to proceed to the Hôtel de Ville, in order to gain further information. It is not impossible, indeed, that the vicinity of a famous sutling-house, known to every _bon vivant_ in the army, at the corner of the _Rue de la Mortellerie_ might be an inducement to my conductor, and, at all events, certain it is that he directed his steps to the sutler's in the very first instance.