The women soon yawned, and leaning their backs against the wall nodded regularly in spite of their efforts not to doze off, and each time, surprised by the sudden shock of awakening would shudder and groan unconsciously. Tightly clasped in their hands, or on the floor between their feet lay a bag which never got beyond their reach, to which they clung as something sacred. Certain among them were almost elegant in their grey linen covers. Others had seen better days, while still others dated back to the good old times of needlework tapestry. There were carpet, kit and canvas bags, little wooden chests with leather handles, and one poor old creature carefully harboured a card-board box tied about with a much knotted string. What did they all contain? In France amid such a gathering it were safe to make a guess. First of all, the spotless family papers--cherished documents registering births, deaths and marriages. A lock of hair, a baby tooth, innumerable faded photographs, a bundle of letters, a scrap of paper whereon are scrawled the last words of a departed hero, and way down underneath, neatly separated from all the rest, I feel quite sure the little family treasure lies hidden. Yes, here is that handful of stocks and bonds, thanks to which their concierge bows to them with respect; those earnings that permit one to fall ill, to face old age and death without apprehension, the assurance the children shall want for nothing, shall have a proper education--the certitude that the two little rooms occupied can really be called home; that the furniture so carefully waxed and polished is one's own forever. Bah! what terrors can lack of work, food shortage, or war hold for such people? Thus armed can they not look the horrid spectres square in the face? The worst will cost but one or two blue bank notes borrowed from the little pile, but because of the comfort they have brought they will be replaced all the more gayly when better days shall come. All this ran through my brain as I watched those hands--big and small, fat and thin, young and old, clasping their treasure so tightly, and I couldn't help feeling that gigantic convulsive gesture of thousands of other women, who all over the great Capital at that same moment were hugging so lovingly their little all; the fruit of so much toil and so much virtue. My reflections were cut short by a deafening noise that roused my sleeping companions. The children shrieked, and the women openly lamented. "That was a close call," commented Monsieur Neu, our concierge. Five or six boys wanted to rush out and see where the bomb had fallen. They were dissuaded, but with difficulty. An elderly man had taken his six year old grandson on to his knee, and that sleepy little Parisian urchin actually clapped his hands and crowed over the shock. "Jiminy, that was a fine one!"