I cannot bid adieu to Monaco without relating a little anecdote in which I was an involuntary actor.  It chanced that one day in 1870 business took me to Monaco, and I arrived in that capital on the anniversary of the birthday of the reigning princess.  The little town was decorated with flags and banners; a Te Deum was sung in the abbey church, and after high mass a review of the “army” took place in front of the castle, on the Grande Place.  Now I happened to be well acquainted with the captain, who, the instant he saw me watching the manoeuvres, took the opportunity to come over and invite me to dine with the officers that evening, when they were to be regaled at a banquet at the expense of the princess.  I of course accepted, and was, at about four in the afternoon, taken over the guard-house, which is exquisitely clean and neatly furnished, and contains a handsome chapel, a billiard-room and a well-supplied reading-room.  Dinner was served at five o’clock, and a very good one it was.  The dining-room had been, in days of yore the refectory of an ancient convent, and the men sat at two long white-wood tables placed facing each other in the centre of the chamber, while the officers were accommodated with a table to themselves at the top of the room.  During the repast a good deal of jesting went on, toasts were drunk and wine circulated freely.  Some hot heads amongst the youngsters began to turn, and it became pretty evident that it was more prudent to consign the men to the barracks than to allow them to go out after dark through the town.  The colonel consequently gave the captain a hint to that effect.  It soon got noised about, however, and when the colonel retired to his private room to smoke, his key was suddenly turned from without, and he was locked in.  The same thing happened to the captain and myself.  Presently the most awful noises resounded through the building:  “the army” was in a state of insubordination.  Some dozen young fellows came up to the colonel’s door and declared that they would not release him unless he granted the extra leave which was theirs by right.  Furious was the gallant colonel, and no less so my friend the captain.  They swore terrible vengeance, but the “army” cared little for their threats.  Over each door throughout the whole building is a circular window, just large enough for a man to put his head through.  Wishing to see what was going on, I got up on a chair and looked out.  Down the corridor was a tide of upturned excited faces.  Out of the next loophole to mine appeared the infuriated face of the colonel.  Presently some bright wit in the lower part of the house was inspired with the brilliant idea of firing off a gun.  This decided matters, and, making a terrible effort, the colonel burst open his door, and rushing down the corridor with drawn sword, soon intimidated the revolutionists.  By and by the captain and myself were released from durance vile, and before twenty minutes elapsed the “revolt” was over.  Decided as was the action of the colonel, it was as kindly as possible.  He treated his men as they deserved—­like unruly boys—­locked them up for the night, and promised them a holiday when they were good.