The representatives then decided to go to the Mairie of the Tenth Arrondissement, and there reorganize into a legislative body.  They were nearly all members belonging to the Right, but they were as indignant as the Left at the outrage.

They formed into a column, marching two and two abreast; but the Left would not march with the Right, so they proceeded in two parallel columns, one on each side of the way.  Arrived at the Mairie, they made Jules de Lasteyrie, Lafayette’s grandson, president pro tempore, and proceeded to pass a decree deposing Louis Bonaparte.  Scarcely was this done when a battalion of cavalry arrived, and the legislators soon perceived that they were prisoners.  After a great deal of altercation with the soldiers, they were marched off to a barrack-yard on the Quai d’Orsay.

When all this was reported to De Morny, he remarked:  “It is well; but they are the last deputies who will be made prisoners,”—­meaning that any others would be shot.

It was half-past three when the deputies were locked into the barrack-yard.  The December day was cold and frosty, the sky overcast.  The first thing they did was to call the roll.  There were two hundred and twenty of them, out of a total membership of seven hundred and fifty.  Among them were many of the best and most conservative men of France.  There was Jules Grevy, the future president (M.  Thiers was already in prison); Jules de Lasteyrie; Sainte-Beuve, the great critic; Berryer, the great lawyer; the Duc de Luynes, the richest man in France; and Odillon Barrot, the popular idol at the commencement of the late revolution.  De Tocqueville was there, the great writer on America; General Oudinot, and several other generals; the Duc de Broglie, great-grandson of Madame de Stael; Eugene Sue, the novelist; Coquerel, the French Protestant preacher; and M. de Remusat, the son of that lady who has given us her experiences of the court of the First Napoleon.

For two hours the deputies remained in the open air; then they were transferred at dark to the third story of a wing of the barracks.  They found themselves in two long halls, with low ceilings and dirty walls, used as the soldiers’ dormitories.  They had no furniture but some wooden benches.  M. de Tocqueville was quite ill.  The rooms were bitterly cold.  An hour or so later, three representatives, who had demanded to share the fate of their colleagues, were brought in.  One of these was the Marquis de La Vallette, who had married Mrs. Welles, a very beautiful and fascinating American lady.

Night came.  Most of the prisoners had eaten nothing since morning.  A collection of five francs apiece was taken up amongst them, and a cold collation was provided by a neighboring restaurant.  They ate standing, with their plates in their hands.  “Just like a supper at a ball,” remarked one of the younger ones.  They had very few drinking-glasses.  Right and Left, having been reconciled by this time,