drank together.  “Equality and Fraternity!” remarked a conservative nobleman as he drank with one of the Red Republicans.  “Ah,” was the answer, “but not Liberty.”  Eight more prisoners before long were added to their number, and three were released,—­one because he was eighty, one because of his wife’s illness, and one because he had been accidentally wounded.  At last, sixty mattresses were brought in, for two hundred and twenty-five men.  They had no blankets, and had to trust to their great-coats to keep them from the cold.  A few of them went to sleep, but were roused at midnight by an order that their quarters must be changed.  They were taken down by parties to all the voitures cellulaires (or Black Marias) in Paris.  Each deputy was put into a separate cell, where he sat cramped and freezing for hours.  It was nearly seven A. M., December 3, before these prison-vans were ready to start.

Some went to the great prison of Mazas, some to Vincennes, some to Fort Valerien.  At Mazas they were treated in all respects like criminals, except that they were not allowed a daily walk,—­a privilege the knaves and malefactors obtained.  Two deputies only were favored with beds,—­M.  Thiers and another elderly man.  M. Grevy had none, nor the African generals, the ex-dictator Cavaignac among them.

Such of the members of the Left as were not in prison spent December 2, 3, and 4 in endeavoring to assemble and reorganize the remains of the Assembly; but the police followed them up too closely.

A few barricades were raised, and the first man killed on one of them was named Baudin.  He threw away his life recklessly and to no purpose; but it is the fashion among advanced republicans to this day to decorate his grave and to honor his memory with communistic speeches.  He was rather a fine young fellow, and might have lived to do the State some service.

By the night of December 3 there was a good deal of commotion in the city.  Two days of disorganization, idleness, and excitement had made workmen more inflammable than when they remained passive under the appeals of Victor Hugo.  The remainder of the story, so far as it concerns the uprising and massacre in the streets of Paris, I will borrow from the experience of an American eye-witness; but first I will tell what happened to the African generals imprisoned at Mazas.

On the night of December 3 the station of the great railroad to the north was filled with soldiers.  About six o’clock the next morning two voitures cellulaires drove up, each attended by a light carriage containing an especial agent sent by the police.  These vehicles, just as they were, were rolled on to trucks, and the train moved out of the station.  There were eight cells in each voiture cellulaire; four were occupied by prisoners, four by policemen.  It was bitterly cold, and in the second of the prison-vans the police, half frozen, opened the doors of their cells and came out to walk up and down and warm themselves.