They dragged him towards the river-bank. Out of his eye corners my friend saw several boys pick up stones to help him to sink. He thought his last hour was come. They were close to the river: the water looked very cold. Then there came to his ears the “tuck” of a drum. A company of French soldiers was marching by; a Colonel on horseback rode beside them. The artist recognized him, for they had once chummed together near Metz. He called to him by name, and the Colonel cried “Halt!” He spurred his horse through the evil-smelling crowd, and seeing who it was whom the rascals were going to plunge into the Seine, held up his hand and cried: “Let that English gentleman go. He is no Prussian, but an artist who has drawn my portrait--mine, I tell you--for the London journals. He is my friend--an English friend, like Mr. Wallace.” This testimony was enough for them. The excitable crowd flew to the opposite extreme. Those who had made ready to stone him like a water-rat now dropped those stones, and rushing up with remorse and even affection in their changed looks, threw fusty arms round his neck, kissed him on both cheeks, sobbed and cried for forgiveness for their little mistake. Indeed it is not safe to enter too soon into a conquered city. From “My Experiences of the War,” by Archibald Forbes. With the kind permission of Messrs. Hurst and Blackett. FOOTNOTES: [A] My informant was an English artist. CHAPTER XVIII THE SIEGE OF PARIS--_Continued_ WITH THE BESIEGED (1870-1871) Moods in Paris--The Empress escapes--Taking down Imperial flags--Playing dominoes under fire--Cowards branded--Balloon post--Return of the wounded--French numbed by cold--The lady and the dogs--The nurse who was mighty particular--Castor and Pollux pronounced tough--Stories of suffering. One who was in Paris on the 3rd of September, 1870, might have heard strange things said in the cafés as evening came on. The French had suffered a great disaster; they had surrendered to the Germans at Sedan! MacMahon was wounded and taken prisoner; the Emperor had given himself up, and was going to Germany as a first-class prisoner; 80,000 men captured, and 200 guns. Was not that news enough to sell every paper in the street? Shouts were heard of “Déchéance! Vive la République!” Where was the poor Empress all this time? “Never mind her; it was she who had stirred up the Emperor Napoleon III. to make this horrible war.” So the papers print cruel caricatures of her. On Sunday, the 4th, very early in the morning, a huge crowd thronged the Place de la Concorde; men were pulling down Imperial eagles while the mob cheered. The regular soldiers met the National Guard and made friends. Men said to one another: “What will become of the Empress?” “Will she fall a victim to the new patriots?” And whilst some wondered, a few friends were even then helping her to escape to England.