At half past five we drove through the rue Francois I’er on our way home and saw a few people collected on the Place, otherwise there seemed nothing unusual.  When we passed through the avenue Montaigne we met Monsieur Hanotaux (Minister of Foreign Affairs) in a cab, looking wildly excited.  He stood up and screamed to me, “Vous etes sauvee.”  What could he mean?

I thought that he was crazy.  I screamed back, “Que dites vous?” but he was already out of hearing.  It was only when we reached home that we learned what had happened and understood what he had meant.

How dreadful were the details!

The bazar was in a vacant lot inclosed by the walls of surrounding houses, from which the only exit was through the room where a cinematograph had been put up.  This, being worked by a careless operator, took fire.

The interior of the bazar consisted of canvas walls, of which one part represented a street called Vieux Paris.

The bazar was crowded; the stalls were presided over by the most fashionable ladies of Paris, and there were many gentlemen in the crowd of buyers.

When the fire broke out a gentleman whose wife was one of the stall-holders stood up near the door and cried out, “Mesdames, n’ayez pas peur.  Il n’y a pas de danger,” and quietly went out, leaving people to their fates.

Then came the panic.

Young ladies were trampled to death by their dancing-partners of the evening before.  One of them was engaged to be married, and when her fiance walked over her body, in his frenzy to escape, she cried to him, “Suavez moi, pour Vamour de Dieu!” He screamed back, “Tout le monde pour soi,” and disappeared.

She was saved by a groom from the stables opposite.  She was horribly burned, but probably will live, though disfigured for life.  Under the wooden floor were thrown all the debris—­tar, shavings, paper, etc.  This burned very quickly, and the floor fell in, engulfing those who could not escape; the tarred roof and the canvas walls fell on them.  What an awful death!

The kitchen of a small hotel, which formed one side of the vacant lot, had one window about four feet from the ground.  This was covered with stout iron bars.  The cook, when he realized the disaster, managed to break the bars and, pushing out a chair, was able to drag a great many women through the window.  He and the stable-boy were the only persons who seemed to have done anything toward helping.

Of course, around the uprooted and demolished turn-stile was the greatest number of victims, but masses were found heaped together before the canvas representing the street of Vieux Paris.  The poor things in their agony imagined that it really was a street.  It was all over in an hour.  It seems almost incredible that such a tragedy could have taken place in so short a time.  And to think that the whole catastrophe could have been averted by the expenditure of a few francs!  When the architect heard that there was to be a cinematograph put up he pointed out the danger and begged that some firemen should be engaged.  The president of the committee asked how much this would cost and, on being told twenty francs for each fireman, replied, “I think we will do without them.”