General Duchesne, who was a chivalrous French gentleman of the old school, treated the queen with the utmost courtesy and kindness, and did all in his power to soften her fall. Very different indeed was his treatment of her from that which she afterwards received. For his chivalry he was attacked and abused by a section of the French press. The queen had been betrayed (a word which Frenchmen are themselves prone enough to use with less justification) rather than conquered. All this was forgotten by those who profited by her fall. Sympathy was denied her because she was only a _nigger_! The General, however, stuck to his guns, declined to do anything dishonourable or degrading, and behaved all through in a way that earned for him the respect of all those--natives and foreigners--whose respect was worth having. It was due to him, who had throughout shown himself to be not only a kindly disposed and merciful man, but also a rigid military disciplinarian, that there was no looting, no drunkenness, no disturbance of any kind, and that all provisions were bought--in the capital at least--with honest cash. On the march of the expedition through our old district of Vònizòngo, some of the French black troops took Rainihàrisòa, a Malagasy medical practitioner--an old pupil of mine--prisoner, and robbed him of his watch. He was brought before General Duchesne, who asked how he had been treated, and if he had been robbed of anything. He told him of his being robbed of his watch. The General asked the value of it; was told £3. He immediately handed that sum to Rainihàrisòa. He then summoned the captain of the black troops who had committed the robbery before him, and in the sternest terms informed him what would be the consequences if such conduct was allowed to be repeated. Notwithstanding all that, the wire-pullers managed to have him nominally honoured, but practically disgraced and shelved. The blame of all the blundering and sacrificing of soldiers’ lives during the campaign was laid upon him, and not on the real culprit at the War Office. Immediately after the arrival of the French at the capital William and Lucy Johnson of the Friends’ Mission, with their little daughter ‘Blossom,’ were murdered at Arìvonimàmo, in the west, by a semi-heathen mob. The Johnsons ought to have been in the capital; but sense of duty kept them at their station, although no work could be done there at the time. They trusted the people, and would not believe that they could harm those who, like themselves, had never done them anything but good. That feeling of trust kept them from taking advantage of the opportunity to escape, when they might have done so, even when they were urged to flee. They paid dearly for their error of judgement. The temper of a mob, but especially of a semi-heathen mob, is always an unknown quantity.