At length, to my great relief, we saw a carriage before us; and we drove into the railway-station at the same moment as the Leares.

Before the ladies could alight I was beside the window of their carriage.

“You here, Mr. Farquhar?” cried Hermione.  “How good of you!  You cannot guess the relief.  Help me to get them out, these helpless ones.”

We lifted Mrs. Leare on to the platform of the railway, weeping and trembling.  The old colored nurse could not speak French, and seemed to think her only duty was to hold the hand of little Claribel and to stand where her young mistress placed her.  All looked to Hermione.  She carried a canvas bag of five-franc pieces and paid right and left.  I tried to interfere, as she was giving the postilion an exorbitant sum.

“No, hush!” she whispered:  “we can afford to pay, but in our situation we cannot afford to dispute.”

She then deputed me to see after the “baggage,” as she called the luggage of the party, and went with her mother into the glass cage that the French call a salle d’attente at a railway-station.

We had come from the seat of war, and every one crowded around us asking for news.  I had little to tell, but replied that I believed the affair was nearly over.  I did not foresee that two hours later a procession roaring “Mourir pour la Patrie” under the windows of the Hotel des Affaires Etrangeres would be fired into by accident, and that the emeute of February, 1848, would be converted into a revolution.

It was nine o’clock in the evening.  The lamps were lighted in the station.  The night was cloudy, but far off on the horizon we could see a gleam of radiance, marking the locality of the great city.

After an hour of very anxious waiting, during which Mrs. Leare was beside herself with nervous agitation, the locked doors of our prison were flung open and we were permitted to seat ourselves in a railway-carriage.

Hermione’s tender devotion to her mother, the old servant and the child was beautiful to witness.  Now that Mrs. Leare was helpless on her daughter’s hands, they seemed to have found their natural relations.  Hermione said few words to me, but a glance now and then thanked me for being with them.  The train started.  For about three miles all went on well, although we travelled cautiously, fearing obstructions.  Suddenly the speed of our train was checked, and there was a cry of consternation as we rounded a sharp curve.  The bridge over the Seine at its third bend was ablaze before us!

All the men upon the train sprang out upon the track as soon as the carriage-doors were opened, and in a few moments we were surrounded by ruffians refusing to let us go on.

“Back the train!” cried the railroad official in charge.

No, they were not willing to let us go back to Paris.  Conspirators against the people might be making their escape.  They had set fire to the bridge, they said, to prevent the train from passing over.  It must remain where it was.  If we passengers desired to return to Paris, we must walk there.