Then a voice was heard from one of the prisoners. “Ah, ca, it is bitterly cold here.  Could n’t one be allowed to re-light one’s cigar?” At this another voice called out:  “Tiens! is that you, Lamoriciere?  Good morning!” “Good morning, Cavaignac,” replied the other.  Then a third voice came from the third cell.  It was that of Changarnier. “Messieurs les Generaux,” cried a fourth, “do not forget that I am one of you.”  The speaker was a quoestor of the Chamber of Deputies, a man charged with the safety of the National Assembly.  The generals who had spoken, and Bedeau, who was in the next van, were, with the exception of Bugeaud, the four leading commanders in the French army.  The other four prisoners were Colonel Charras, General Le Flo, Baze the quoestor, and a deputy, Count Roger (du Nord).  At midnight they had been roused from sleep and ordered to dress immediately.  “Are we going to be shot?” asked Charras, but no answer was vouchsafed him.  They were put into the voitures cellulaires, each knowing nothing of the presence of the others; even the police who were in charge of them, had no idea what prisoners they had in custody.  After this recognition between the generals, they were permitted to come out of their cells and walk up and down the van to warm themselves, taking care, however, that they were not seen at liberty by the special agents in the carriages attending on each van.

On reaching Ham, the former prison of Louis Napoleon, Cavaignac, whom he had succeeded as ruler of France, was put into his former chamber.  “Chassez croissez,” said De Morny, when the report was made to him.

December 4, the last day of the struggle, was by far the most terrible.  Louis Napoleon, in spite of many benefits which France and the world owe him, will never be cleansed from the stain that the outrages of that day have left upon his memory.  It may be said, however, that the details of the coup d’etat were left to his subordinates, and that probably both success and infamy are due in large part to the flippant Morny.

It was a cold, drizzling day.  Such barricades as had been built were very slimly defended, and with no enthusiasm.  The insurgents were short of ammunition, nor did the troops attack them with much vigor.  In fact, the soldiers were but few, for all were being concentrated on that part of the Boulevard where strangers do their shopping and eat ices at Tortoni’s.  The programme for that day was not fighting, but a massacre.

The American gentleman whose narrative I am about to quote, says,—­

“On December 3 there was more excitement in the streets than there had been on December 2.  The secret societies had got to work.  The Reds were recovering from their astonishment.  Ex-members of the National Assembly had harangued the multitude and circulated addresses calculated to rouse the people to resistance.  On the 4th there was not much stirring.  The shops were closed.  I went into the heart of the city on business, where I soon found myself in the midst of a panic-stricken crowd.  The residents were closing their doors and barricading their windows.  Some said the Faubourgs were rising; some that the troops were approaching, with cannon.